


Not What They Make Us

by Terion



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Torture, Characters Held Against Their Will, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Imprisonment, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, Memory Loss, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terion/pseuds/Terion
Summary: Posting Schedule:COMPLETE.After a Guard of Priwen patrol mostly made up of rookies led by McCullum is half slaughtered, the other half is oddlycapturedby the group of Ekons that attacked them. Trapped in a dark cell somewhere in the city, all they know is fear as what little of their number is left is whittled down man by man...slowly fed tosomethingthat howls in the unknown world outside of their cage.As the hard to track days and hours tick by, they slowly dwindle down until only McCullum himself is left. But Geoffrey McCullum isn't going to justdiebecause some bloody leech wants him to.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid
Comments: 135
Kudos: 88





	1. False Hope Burns Like Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was initially plotted and forged through the collective efforts of the Vampyr Discord server. I just happened to be the one to grab the base idea and run with it to make it a full-fledged fic to torture us all with. Couldn't have done it without all the discussions we had on this idea that inspired me.

_Fucking leeches._

He’d worked over and over in his head since they had tossed them into this damned cell over what had gone wrong. Of how the hunters had ended up being hunted in the end.

Numbers was honestly what it came down to.

Numbers and rookies that were too green to have been out with him that night.

Geoffrey had watched most of them die during the fight and he’d been _infuriated_ then. Furious that they would rob those boys (and one lass, her gender carefully hidden like Hawk’s) of any chance at life. And then after, when he and the others had been either wrestled down or knocked unconscious, then he had begun to think their deaths had been the easier path.

Now with him and one boy left - the one single surviving rookie - he knew it to be the truth.

They were _feeding them_ to something.

Something that they could hear howling just outside their own cell in the pitch black dark. He wasn’t certain whether it was rage or anger but sometimes he swore it sounded almost sad. But _sad_ didn’t fucking make up for the fact that it was _eating his Goddamn men._

He knew their game too. Lock them all up in a hole with no light and little food to sap their strength. Then slowly whittle them down man by man until only he was left. They _knew_ who he was, knew they had the leader of Priwen in a cell. Rotten shits thought that watching his men die would break him.

It hurt. Oh, it hurt like hell.

But he wasn’t about to give these rotten fucks the satisfaction. He’d mourn the dead in his own way and in his own time once he got out of this cell.

Positivity made all the difference, right? And he had to keep his chin up for the lad.

Malcolm Gibbs was his one surviving rookie, the only one who hadn’t died or been taken. Geoffrey was fairly certain that the bloodsuckers had deliberately left him for last. One last wound before it was his turn to face whatever beast was down here with them.

Bastards.

“Sir?” the boy queried from out of the dark. “Sir, are you...are you still there?”

Opening his eyes even though it was useless - they were being kept in the dark, so he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. Still, Geoffrey opened his eyes and stared into that black dark as he replied gruffly, “Still here, lad. I haven’t left you.”

There was a heavy exhale of breath and then Malcolm sniffled, saying with tears straining his voice, “I want to go home, sir. I want my mum.”

 _Christ._ The boy was barely eighteen, young enough to have stayed home during the war but old enough now to start trying to make something of himself in the after. Why he had joined up with Priwen Geoffrey didn’t exactly know but after the shit with the epidemic, he needed all of the able bodied men and women that he could get. They still had so much to get done before law and order finally got back into place in London and the Guard had to start slipping back into the shadows again.

“I’ll get you home, lad,” Geoffrey replied, the lie bitter on his tongue. “You have my word.”

There was silence for a beat, the darkness of their cage only filled with Malcolm’s ragged breathing, then the boy whispered in broken tones, “I know we aren’t going home, sir. Not either of us.”

He closed his eyes at that and found that he had nothing else to say, his mouth and his throat feeling drier than they have in...days? Is it days they’ve been here?

What else _could_ he say?

“We’ll find a way, lad,” he said wearily as he leaned his head back against the wall. “One way or another we’ll find a way, alright? You don’t give up on me now, Gibbs.”

“Aye, sir. We’ll find a way.”

The boy’s voice was utterly flat as he spoke and Geoffrey knew that the lad had already given up. Well he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ascalon take him down without a fight, not while he still had air in his lungs and a heartbeat in his chest. He would find a way.

Even if he had to do something he would regret.


	2. The Old Live and The Young Die

They took Gibbs two hours ago.

Geoffrey had counted the time since those bloody rotten bastards had come charging into the room they were being locked in, letting light pour in from an old lantern or something similar. The sudden light had been enough to blind them both again even though they knew what tactic they were going to use and had tried to prepare. There just wasn’t any preparing eyes that had been kept in total darkness for sudden light invading them and the instinctive reaction was to shrink back away from the source of the sudden pain.

He had tried to focus past it, to try to go after one of them once they were in the room and try to keep them from taking the lad...but he hadn’t been able to manage it. Being half-blind had thrown off his balance considerably and the half-starved state hadn’t done him any favors either. Instead all that Geoffrey had gotten for his trouble was skinned knuckles on one hand and what was probably a real nasty shiner of a bruise along his jaw where one of the bastards had backhanded him when he had gotten a little too close. And the cold, bitter memory of Gibbs _screaming_ as they had dragged him, just one more voice to haunt him from the grave.

His only solace in the aftermath of the lad being taken was that he hadn’t heard Ascalon’s _beast_ enjoying what was supposed to be its latest meal. There hadn’t been anymore screaming after Gibbs was out of the room, his cries cut off to muted screams, but he had heard the now all too familiar clang of the metal door that was the one that held back whatever...or whoever...it was down here with them. That noise meant that the lad was certainly in there with that thing, yet he had apparently avoided it since he had been tossed in there with it. Nearly the longest that had so far.

Williams had made it five hours before the beast had gotten its teeth into him. There were still three of them left then and Geoffrey had pretended to not hear Gibbs and Ross (who had only been twenty, barely back from the war before the epidemic became a Skal outbreak, and was now _dead_ ) sobbing from somewhere in their dark cell. They weren’t to know that he had shed his own silent tears over his men in the dark as each one went to that beast.

Of course Gibbs being gone meant that the next time the door opened to let light pour in...he would be the one getting shoved into the room with whatever their beast was.

Sighing, Geoffrey leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes...just waiting.

All there was to do now was wait and count time.

Two minutes to another hour being gone, he opened his eyes to Gibbs’ scream of terror being silenced by the roar of the beast.

“Good job, lad,” Geoffrey whispered into the darkness as a tear rolled down his cheek. “You did good. You did good.”


	3. Here There Be Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given the current state of the world, I'm going to shift my posting timeline around a little. Today y'all will get _three_ chapters on this Saturday. I don't guarantee that every Saturday will have three chapters but it will definitely be more than one from here on out.
> 
> Things are kind of scary right now, so here's hoping this story (dark as it itself might be) might bring some enjoyment into your lives. Stay safe out there, wherever you all may be.

After Gibbs was gone, he stopped counting the days and hours except by how many times they delivered meager food and water into the cell through the little hatch at the bottom of the door. Instead Geoffrey spent his time going over maps in his head and schematics. He had never been the greatest with words but _pictures_ he could follow and once someone showed him how something worked he could figure it out for himself. Not to mention that he could sketch the schematics for it and knew what all of the parts were without any written notations cluttering up things.

He had started with the maps in his office back at Whitechapel outpost, going over the West End and Docks ones in his head without any trouble. When he started over the Whitechapel one, however, he found his chest growing tight with a series of emotions that he didn’t want to examine too closely for fear that they would overwhelm him.

Whitechapel inevitably came with memories of Hawk. The seventeen year-old had been a pretty solid feature in his life ever since he had allowed her into the Guard at just barely fifteen years old. He’d seen a determination in her that reminded him of himself at a younger age, before he’d had his wild years pre Carl’s death that were fueled by too many fights, alcohol, and a great big lump of grief in his chest. Geoffrey hadn’t wanted to see her go down that same path, so he had taken a slightly more active role in her training than he did with any other recruit.

Plus, most of the women in the Guard joined up much later in life, not at a sharp, skinny little fifteen years with barely any skin on their bones. He might have felt a little protective of the girl.

And Whitechapel was connected to far too many memories of her.

Training her on how to properly hold a knife in a fight, how to shoot (though the girl had ended up being a damned _crack shot_ and could be a right terror in the future if she kept at it), and how to combat an opponent that was larger than her. There were rounds around the streets of Whitechapel with just her and others with her and a gaggle of some of the other best new recruits. Then there were the few moments spent alone with her when she sought him out about one thing or another, often just wanting to sit silently in his office while he worked. She wanted company...and he had found over the two years that he didn’t mind hers.

Now, looking at how things were going for him, he would never have that opportunity again.

That had sent a sharp pain through his chest and he realized with a sinking heart just how much he had grown fond of the girl. He had quickly distanced himself from the emotions and any thought of her, changing his focus to schematics instead. There was no emotion in schematics, except in those few that he had started years ago with help from Whitechapel’s blacksmith, Morrow Byrne. Those he stayed far away from, as well as memories of the older man who had been a feature in his life practically since he had been found by the Guard.

Better to distance himself from the things he cared about. It would be easier in the long run and he would keep his head longer when the end came.

Geoffrey had almost finished with the last bits of the schematic for his arm crossbow - his own damned design and the Ascalon bastards had probably _smashed it_ knowing them - when he heard the all too familiar sound of the lock on the door click. His eyes snapped open in the dark then he quickly closed them again so he wouldn’t get blinded when the door opened, knowing that they were about to come for him. He managed to get up onto his feet before he heard the sound of the metal door open, the hinges squealing loudly, and bared his teeth in a snarl as he stubbornly kept his eyes shut.

His ears were open though and he could hear the all too familiar sound of a leech shadowstepping into the room before hands closed around his shoulders on either side in a firm grip. _A mistake_. Geoffrey swung his right fist at the leech on his left, guessing that they had to be at least as tall as him or somewhere around the same height, and felt the satisfying crunch of his fist into an ear. The leech howled in pain and he felt its hands fall away from his arm, immediately turning to send his left fist at what he _hoped_ was the face of the other one. There was another crunch of cartilage being crushing beneath his fist and he felt blood dripping down the knuckles of his left hand already.

Normally that would be a problem since he was surrounded by leeches but given the fate they were trying to send him to, bleeding a little didn’t seem as bad as it normally would.

“Come on, y’dirty rotten fucks!” he snarled, whipping his head back and forth to try and keep focus on where they were. “Fight me like a _man_!”

There was the sound of a shadowstep near him in response and Geoffrey turned towards it, going with instinct and letting a fist fly. All he hit was empty air and suddenly claws were at his throat - _in_ his throat, just the _tips_ , sharply digging into his days of unwashed skin - and a distinctly French voice with breath that smelled like rotten blood growled in his face.

“ _You aren’t worth the effort, peasant_.”

He bared his teeth, slitting open his eyes just enough to see the shadow of the asshole’s face, and hissed, “You just don’t want it to be said that the leader of Priwen beat you after you had him locked up for fuck knows how long. Come on now, lads. Where’s your _spine_?”

The Ekon sneered and replied, “Our spine wouldn’t lower itself to fight you, dog. Instead we’re going to feed you to our little pet. I imagine you were attempting to have us kill you with your little show you were putting on?” He made a disappointed clicking noise with his tongue and Geoffrey could see the shadow of him shaking his head. “You really should have known better than that. Besides...we wouldn’t want to rob you of the fun of your little reunion.”

_Reunion?_

“What are you talking about?” he hissed, wanting to swing and punch and _move_...but if he did, those claws in his throat would tear him apart. And much as he might have been trying to get them to take him out before he ended up in with their little beastie, he didn’t want to go out like that.

“ _Come and see_ , hunter. It’s been quite some time since he’s been fed, after all. I imagine he’s feeling quite ravenous.”

Those claws _tugged_ and Geoffrey cursed but he followed. God, he hated it but he followed, one stumbling step after another. It was quickly all too obvious how shaky he was on his feet, at just _how much_ even his short capture had stolen from him while he was locked in that bleak nothingness waiting to die.

And now he was walking to his own death with a leech’s claws dragging him along like some mutt being taken out to be _shot_.

His eyes slowly adjusted enough that he could open them more but it still hurt. Everything _still_ hurt after so many hours in the dark...but now he could at least see where he was being taken. The Ekon - tall but not as tall as him, blond, well-dressed from what he could see of him - led him just down the hall to a heavy barred door that was locked with an equally heavy chain and padlock. “Open it,” came the order and one of the two that he’d punched earlier shadowstepped from behind them, twisting the lock open and then opening the door.

Bastard showed no signs that he’d even been hit anymore, damned leech healing.

“In,” commanded the Ekon, twitching his fingers _just enough_ that drops of blood welled up and pain lanced through him.

But what could he do but _fucking obey?_

Geoffrey glared at his tormentor and stepped forward, the claws pulling away as soon as he was inside, allowing the door to slam back behind him. He didn’t bother trying to reach back through and grab them, there was no _point_. Not weak as he was against three Ekons.

Instead he just stood there, shoulders squared and his hands clenched, as he listened to them rechaining and locking the door. Staring into the new darkness that he was facing outside of the small pool of light that came in from the barred door.

“Oh, _pet!_ ” the Ekon called out from behind him in a singsong sort of voice. “Your dinner is served. Do try to play nice with this one, we would prefer to have a show.”

“What the fuck,” Geoffrey muttered as he stepped forward, eyes peering around whatever the room was that he was in. As his eyes quickly adjusted again, he realized it wasn’t as dark as where he had been held. There was not only the light from the door but one from a small circle at the center of the stone roof where water dripped through periodically down to the floor. An old cistern maybe?

He hadn’t moved far forward when he heard the clinking of chains but from the _opposite_ direction of the door.

Geoffrey froze, barely breathing, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to _see_ what was going to be coming at him. There was a growl - something deep, dark, and _feral_ that spoke to something in him that screamed at him to _flee_ \- and then the sound of a shadowstep right in front of him.

He threw himself backwards, stumbling and staggering back towards the door, feeling the air where he had been _cut_ by sharp claws. A leech! They had another fucking _leech_ chained up and had been feeding his men to it?! What kind of shit was this?

As his back hit the barred door with a harsh noise that sent a jolt up his spine and rattled the chain on it, he practically prayed that this _thing_ didn’t have a long enough chain to get to him. Thankfully it didn’t, the chains it was locked into stopped it at the edge of the pool of light from the door, which also kept him out of the reach of its claws too.

However...the light allowed him to see it.

No, not _it._

Him.

See _him_.

The man’s skin was paler - if it were possible - and shot through with darkening purple veins beneath the smears of dirt and dried blood, but he still recognized him. Even with the torn clothes, the bedraggled beard, and the almost feral blue-on-red eyes that stared at him from above a snarling mouth.

“ _Reid_ ,” Geoffrey breathed...but there was no recognition in those eyes.

By all appearances, the “good doctor” was gone…and he was well and truly _fucked_.


	4. Not All Are Lost

“I don’t know how you got into the mess, Reid, but I almost feel sorry for you for it, leech,” Geoffrey said in a tired tone, his head leaning against the stones at the edge of the doorway of the barred door.

His Ekon captors had scurried away at some point - leaving him to _get reacquainted_ , as the French sounding bastard stated - and had left him alone in the cage with the feral doctor. For a while Geoffrey had stayed standing against the door, just watching the eye shine reflecting back from Reid’s gaze out of the dark. Up until he had realized that the chains containing that leech didn’t even let him get near the semi-circle of light around the door.

That was when he had sat down against the edge of the door, knees raised and his forearms resting on them, and just watched Reid pace at the edge of his leash like a rabid dog. Much as he might think the leech deserved death...he didn’t deserve this. No one deserved to be treated like they were just some kind of errant pet to be tamed and broken.

It would be better to just put the poor bastard down.

“Only almost, mind you,” he murmured as he absently brought his fingers to his throat, feeling at the scabbed over claw wounds. “Can’t be going too soft, even in a situation like this one. You know how it is.”

Geoffrey then looked at those eyes reflecting at him out of the dark and scoffed.

“Actually who the fuck knows what you know right now. I bet you don’t even know what I’m fucking saying.”

Silence answered him.

Sighing, he closed his eyes then grunted, grimacing when a fingernail caught one of the scabs on his throat and tore it open. There was a sharp exhale from the darkness and a bloodied, clawed hand crept out of it towards him...but not in a feral way. No, this was an obviously _pleading_ gesture.

“No,” came the barely whispered, mostly growled word. “No... _bleed_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geoffrey cursed, looking from that pleading hand to the eyes again with a wide-eyed gaze of his own. “You’re still in there, aren’t you, you stubborn bastard?”

“Here. Lost. H-hungry.”

_Christ._

“Well, you’re not going to eat _me_ , leech.”

The chains rattled and Reid shuffled forward into the dimmest light on all fours before settling on his knees at the end of his leash. Those blue-on-red eyes were no longer feral, personality-less eyes when they looked at Geoffrey from that pale face...though they did linger _far too long_ on his throat for his own comfort.

“Time,” Reid stated flatly. “Time is…” He frowned, lines furrowing between his eyebrows, and Geoffrey had to wonder just exactly how long he had been down here. Was it that he’d lacked actually _human_ contact? “Not. Short? No.”

The leech shook his head, looking frustrated and _desperate_ , his hands clenching at his sides. _That_ feeling Geoffrey could guess.

These bastards had stolen everything of the doctor’s. He actually felt _sorry_ for the leech.

“Time is not...here,” the leech tried again, gesturing vaguely to his left. “They... _watch_. Get…” Another frustrated look, mouth working soundlessly behind that disheveled beard. “Get...pleasure. Watching. Watch me fall.”

“Of course the sick fucks do,” Geoffrey snarled, “they’re _leeche_ …” He trailed off in the middle of the word, looking again at the absolutely wretched creature in front of him. He’d thought he’d seen all the cruelty that a leech could do in his life, heard it all while listening at Carl’s knee when he was younger, but _this_? They were making one of their own less than human, less than the animals he thought they were.

Taking a breath, he stated, “They’re bastards, Reid.” Then Geoffrey frowned, turning his head against the wall to stare out the open bars of the door, eyes on the hallway beyond that would inevitably lead to freedom. “There’s got to be a way we can beat them at their own damned game,” he muttered.

Reid shook his head out of the corner of his eye, looking dejected and almost...sad. “No,” he stated mournfully. “Always kill. Always feed. They...control...chain. Loose.”

 _Fuck_. Which meant he couldn’t just keep his distance.

Turning his head back to the leech, Geoffrey asked, “You don’t think you can keep your head, Reid?”

“Tried,” the half-broken Ekon replied sadly, his gaze drifting towards the filthy stones beneath them. “There was...boy. Last. Before you. I...tried.” He looked up and Geoffrey didn’t think for a moment that the utter _grief_ in his eyes was some leech lie. Not here. Not like this. “ _I tried not to_ ,” Reid whispered brokenly as bloody tears ran down his face, disrupting the dirt and grime caked on his cheeks. “Mc...McCull-um, _I tried_.”

He just stared for a moment, thinking of poor Gibbs in here alone with Reid. Maybe he thought there might be some hope to get out since the leech was showing some humanity. Maybe the boy had thought he was _safe_. Right up until he hadn’t been.

Flatly, he stated, “You were just doing what all leeches do, Reid. _Killing_.”

There was a choked noise from the broken figure across from him and he actually felt like _shit_ for the comment. Felt bad for a _leech_.

“Did not want this,” Reid said in return, his voice broken by held back sobs. “Never...never wanted. I heal. _I heal, McCullum_. Not kill.”

Geoffrey just looked at him sadly - at this broken shadow of a man - and whispered, “Not anymore, Reid.”


	5. Pushed Towards the Edge

Geoffrey’s eyes snapped open as something suddenly slammed against the door next to him, jolting him out of the light doze he’d drifted into sometime after Reid had disappeared into the dark. He’d just sat there listening to the broken Ekon’s quiet sobs, rolling over and over in his head what his few options were, and thinking.

He had been doing _a lot_ of thinking.

“I see our pet wasn’t quite as ravenous as I thought,” the Frenchman said with a grin that showed all four of his fangs. “Pity. I expected you to at least be a little roughed up after some hours alone with him, hunter.”

“Maybe your methods of breaking him are just shitty,” Geoffrey suggested with a sneer.

That brought out a glimmer of _madness_ in the Ekon’s eyes and he purred, “Oh little peasant, you haven’t even begun to see the scope of my methods yet. For instance, you seem to think that being near the door makes you _safe_.”

He froze then howled in pain as something suddenly stabbed somewhere underneath his ribs into his gut. Geoffrey rolled to his side and kicked himself away from the door, still keeping to the edge of the room as best he could while trying to get the hell away from whatever the _fuck_ had gotten him.

As soon as he was stabbed, Reid came roaring out of the dark to the end of his chains but he didn’t come at Geoffrey. No, he went after the Ekon behind the door, snarling and spitting, “ _What did you do? **What did you do?!**_ ”

“A little...incentive...for the both of you to move a little faster,” the Ekon replied. “We can’t continue breaking you down for our use, pet, if you don’t eat him.”

“Never!” Reid bellowed. “ _Never again!_ ”

The Ekon tutted softly and said, “Oh, darling...you said that the last time too and look how that all worked out.” He then waved and left, disappearing as quickly as he’d come along with another deeper laugh that said there had been _two_ of them out there. Geoffrey hissed out a breath once they were gone and collapsed, his side aching and sending pain jolting through him.

Then he slowly ran his hand up his side, barely able to see away from the light, grimacing as he found a wet patch already soaking into his shirt. Bleeding. He was _bleeding_ in a cage with a hungry, half feral vampire. His hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger that had been buried into his side - probably by the other Ekon while he’d been distracted by the French one - and just tried to breathe.

It was already harder to do that because of the pain.

“McCullum?”

Geoffrey lifted his head and peered into the dark, just barely able to see Reid’s outline nearby. The Ekon was at the end of his chains, as far as he could reach, and actually sounded _worried_ about him. “McCullum, bleeding.”

“I got that, leech,” he grunted, “but thank you for that brilliant observation.”

There was a rusty laugh in response and then Reid stated in a somewhat more clinical tone, “Missed liver. In...intestine. Stomach. Bleeding inside.”

Letting out a harsh chuckle, Geoffrey asked, “Forgot you were a doc for a moment there, leech. So tell me...how long have I got if you don’t eat me first?”

“Days. Infection first. Pain...infla...inflammation,” came the response. Then, “Saw death during war. Like that. Terrible.”

“Well, guess you get to see another one, leech.”

There was silence between them for a moment then Reid shifted, his chains rattling, and Geoffrey frowned as he realized the Ekon was laying down almost as a mirror of him. He could just barely make out the profile of his shoulder and side thanks to the poor lighting and asked, “What are you doing?”

A beat of silence answered him and then a soft, “Not dying alone. Not friend you want...but am here. Not alone.”

Scoffing, Geoffrey moved his hand away from the hilt of the blade in his side - the blade that was going to _kill him_ \- and chuckled. He shook his head slowly against the floor and muttered, “Always knew it’d be a leech to take me out. Didn’t know I’d have one mourning me too.”

“Not enemy, McCullum.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I finally get that, Reid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, y'all.
> 
> Remember, stay safe out there. World's crazier than usual right now. I'll see you all back here in our little corner of the internet in a week.


	6. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are on another Saturday! I hope you're all still doing alright in these current troubling times and here are _three_ more chapters for you to enjoy.

“Still living, I see!”

Geoffrey groaned and opened his eyes to glare at the door, sneering at the French bastard. “Can’t let you bastards watch me go easy,” he spat.

“Honestly I expected our little pet would have gone mad with bloodlust by now,” the Ekon replied. “Over a day and he still hasn’t gone wild at the end of his chains to reach you. Perhaps we need to give him a little more freedom and see how that goes. And a little more...incentive.”

With that he disappeared and Geoffrey sought out Reid’s form in the dark. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Chains,” came the reply as Reid rolled up onto his knees, sitting upright. “Loose.”

_Fuck_.

“Reid…”

“Not kill,” the Ekon said firmly.

“Reid, you and I both know that you can’t keep that promise.”

They both sat in silence after that, neither moving until a noise from above them in the ceiling drew their attention. Geoffrey opened his mouth to start, “What the fu…” but trailed off as soon as _blood_ poured through the hole in the stone ceiling, spattering on the stones in the center of the room. Reid made a choking noise that was half desperate, half pain instantly and dove forward, bending over the floor and licking at the freshly spilled blood. It was still _hot_ , even Geoffrey could smell it from where he was at.

God damned inhuman _bastards_.

He could barely see Reid except as a vague shadow despite his eyes long ago having adjusted to the lack of light where he had been lying since being stabbed. But he could definitely hear the hungry sounds the leech was making as well as the broken sobs that were between them as he lapped up the blood from the filthy floor.

Reid knew _exactly_ what they were doing to him...but the hunger of a leech was absolute.

It wasn’t until the leech was sniffing at the floor, looking for more blood like a dog hunting for prey, that there was a clunking sound from beneath them. Reid snarled and backed away from it, the sound of shadowstepping obvious as Geoffrey just waited with bated breath. He could guess those were the chains loosening, giving the leech enough of a lead to finally reach him.

It meant his end was coming.

He wanted to feel fear at the thought...but he didn’t. Just tiredness. Acceptance. Either he died here in this cell...or he made a crazy choice. Those were his two options. Death or survival, such as it was.

_If_ he could even manage the second anymore.

Geoffrey just laid there, waiting, and then abruptly he heard the familiar sound of a shadowstep right next to him. Instinct screamed to flee or fight but the knife buried in his side prevented either of those without probably killing him outright. He waited for the feeling of fangs in his throat...but it never came.

Instead there was a gentle touch on the side of his face and he felt only the prickle of claws against his skin as fingers carefully explored his features in the dark. “McCullum,” Reid growled. He then shifted his attention to the knife, cautiously exploring the area around it in silence with little noise but heavy breathing. “I heal. _I heal_. Not kill. _Not kill_.”

It became a mantra under the leech’s breath and Geoffrey exhaled slowly as he realized the stubborn bastard was still there.

Reaching out, he grabbed one of the Ekon’s hands and squeezed it, saying sharply, “Reid. _Reid, look at me._ ” He couldn’t tell if the leech was doing just that in the dark but the roaming hands stopped and he got a faint squeeze back in return.

Lowering his voice, Geoffrey said, “I’m dying. We both know that. And these bastards want to watch me die and break you just that little bit more.” His voice broke then because he was mad to be making this decision, he was absolutely _fucking out of his mind_ , but _he didn’t want to die_. He wasn’t going to die for the pleasure of these fucking bastards. “But what if neither of us do what they want?”

Reid let out a shaky exhale and asked quietly, “What?”

“ _Fuck them, Reid_ ,” he spat. “They want me _dead_. They want you _broken_. What do you think I’m talking about? Use that big brain of yours and _think_.”

There was a beat of silence and then the leech was trying to pull away from him (though mostly half-heartedly), hissing, “ _No!_ Not again. Swore. _Swore!_ ” Geoffrey didn’t let go though, he just held on tighter, and he bared his teeth.

“ _If I die, those bastards win, Reid_.”

“They use you,” Reid replied. “ _Use us both!_ ”

“Then let’s at least go down fighting, Reid. Like _men_ , not _animals_.”

Only the Ekon’s heavy, ragged breathing answered him for a moment then a quiet, “May die still. Not guaranteed.”

Geoffrey just shrugged the one shoulder he could, even though the motion hurt his entire side - though when didn’t his right side hurt now - and replied, “At least I _tried_.”

Everything was quiet in their cell until Reid whispered, “Have to move you. Will hurt.”

“Everything hurts, leech.”

The Ekon scoffed softly at that as he carefully reached out to help him to make the movement that would be required. “Not use soon.”

Geoffrey let out a little huff of a laugh, all that he could do without extra agony lancing through his chest, and replied, “If you think becoming a leech is going to change me calling you or any of these bastards one, you’re out of your damned mind, Reid.”

That brought a small chuckle out of the man and then Reid murmured, “Hurt come. Sorry,” right before he lifted Geoffrey off of the floor. His vision went white as agony lanced through his body from his rib cage down and he was certain he was screaming...but he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see. Every point of him in that moment boiled down to _pain_ and he was drowning in it.

When Geoffrey did become aware of things again, he was sitting mostly upright with his back leaning against something...no, someone. A pair of legs were pressed against either side of his hips and one arm was wrapped underneath his arms, high enough that they wouldn’t jostle the knife. And whoever was holding him had their lips against the back of his neck, murmuring words under their breath that he couldn’t hear, their fingers raking gently through his hair. It should feel awkward being held like this - despite not caring who he shared a bed with, he’d never been held like this - but it wasn’t.

He just sat there for a moment, blinking in the dark, then asked, “Reid?” His voice sounded faint...strained...had being moved caused so many issues? Fuck, his chest felt too tight and everything below the arm wrapped around him was just a series of pulsating waves of pain. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. _He couldn’t feel his legs._

The lips against the back of his neck paused and then moved again, speaking with Reid’s broken voice. “Moving made worse. Dying fast. Sorry.”

“Do we have time?” Geoffrey asked weakly.

“Have time.”

The Ekon shifted behind him, the fingers on his hair moving away, and he heard a strange noise from behind him. Like a fruit with soft skin being bitten into. Then there was something solid but _wet_ pressing against his closed lips and he tasted copper and iron on the tip of his tongue and felt a twinge of _fear_ as he remembered he was willingly becoming what he hunted if this worked.

Reid leaned his head against his again, lips back against the back of his neck, and murmured, “Drink, McCullum. Live.”

_Live. Drink and live._

He wanted to _live._

No Ekon bastard would choose how he lived or died.

_He would choose how he lived or died._

Geoffrey opened his mouth over the wounds Reid had made in his wrist before he could talk himself out of his choice and drank.


	7. A Prisoner of Hunger

He woke with agonizing pain clenching his stomach tight for the first time in weeks. Jonathan groaned as he opened his eyes, wondering if his vision would be back to those shades of gray except for the pulse of red. The view he had had when he had killed his Mary.

Instead he faced darkness.

Total and complete darkness that slowly came into focus to reveal...nothing. Just blank walls of..ancient stone?

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered…

 _The last thing he remembered was heading home after his rounds in the West End and feeling hands on him before his head snapped sideways_.

Someone had snuck up behind him and snapped his neck. And not merely some random attacker surely given they seemed to have also taken him?

But where…?

Groaning, Jonathan rose slowly up off the cold stone floor, arms and legs quivering with weakness. As soon as he moved his arms to brace himself, he heard the clinking of chains and froze. Suddenly he was aware of _metal_ around his wrists and the faint scent of spilled blood on the air.

He was not just taken by _someone_.

_He was a prisoner._


	8. Losing the Battle

Time was...a mystery.

Jonathan had no idea what day it was or how long it had been since he’d been captured. Not that he had not tried to keep the time at first, he certainly had. He had tried counting in his head, on his fingers, had tried keeping careful track of the hours he’d spent chained to the floor, had tried even going so far as bringing out his claws and etching notch after notch into the floor around his chains. Anything to keep track of the hours even though he didn’t know how long it had been since his capture.

Anything to try to cling to the edges of his sanity and keep from losing himself.

The hours and days blended together there in the dark, no matter how hard he tried to keep track of them. It did not help that he was unable to _move_. Unable to pace back and forth or even enough slack to his chains to really stand.

And unable to sate even the edges of the hunger clawing at him from the inside.

He lasted four days before his first blackout.

Waking up the first time with his face against the stone floor of his cell with _wet_ underneath his fingernails had him launching straight into terrified. Had someone been shoved in here with him? Had he attacked them? _Had he killed them?_

Thankfully then the answer was ’no’. He had only apparently clawed at himself like a wild animal as he’d discovered later when he found tears in his clothes that matched his nails.

Two days later he blacked out again. 

Then again roughly one day later.

After that it became multiple times per day. He completely lost track of any sort of time after that, unable to tell any longer where one day ran into each other because he simply could not remember how long he’d been unconscious. Had no way to tell him how long he had been there in the dark.

It was the first time he had allowed himself to weep because the last little bit of control he had tried to cling it had been taken away from him.

At some point - when he had started to begin to believe he would go _mad_ from the silence - there was the distinct sound of footsteps from right outside of his cell. And then _light_.

Hissing and snarling, Jonathan had scrambled away from it, eyes burning from the sudden onslaught of light after...after....after who knew how long now in the dark. Thankfully the light had just been normal light and not sunlight.

“Oh, dear, we left you down here quite a while, didn’t we?” came a distinctly French voice from the area that had seemingly _opened_ in the wall of his cell. “I see you’ve been trying to keep track of the time. How’s that been going?”

“Who,” Jonathan hissed through gritted teeth as he tried to peer through slitted eyes towards this new doorway into his personal Hell, trying to ignore the burning in them to see who his captor was, “who _are_ you?”

There was an errant sounding scoff and then the man - for it _was_ a man, he could tell that much - replied, “Who I am is a question that will be irrelevant to you, dear doctor. I have merely been hired to do a job and you are part of that job.”

“A job?”

“Oh, yes. With quite the well paying client.”

Ducking his head, unable to look at the light any longer, he simply asked, “And what is it you want of me?”

A chuckle answered him.

“Want of you?” the man replied. “Oh, pet, we don’t want anything of you but to watch you crumble and fall. And to see how long you can last before we break you. A task that we shall begin working on now. Bring him.”

Jonathan looked up at that, eyes wide in shock because they _couldn’t_ mean what he thought they did, and hissed again before lowering his face back towards the floor. Despite that he could hear the sound of scuffling steps from outside of the cell, his hearing suddenly so much more intensely picking up on the things around him than it had before. There was also the sound of muffled shouting words that were almost distinct enough to understand.

What he assumed was the door of the cell opened, the noise of the chain obviously holding it closed making him flinch as it struck something metal, and someone was shoved in with him.

“Hey!”

“There you are, pet,” the Frenchman taunted. “Something to draw your attention for a little while and whet that no doubt quite hungry appetite you’ve been forming. I think you’ll recognize this little morsel. One of my men found the poor boy just outside on the streets, all on his lonesome, such easy prey. Do have some fun with him for us.”

They wanted him to _kill_.

“ _NO!_ ” he yelled, backing as far away as he could in the room, the shackles around his wrists digging into his skin.

“Hey, let me out!”

He knew that voice. Rufus. Rufus Kingsberry, the orphan boy down on the Docks. Just a young man all alone with no one to care for him but the mother of an unrepentant murderer.

And there was a cut.

A cut somewhere on the boy.

Fresh blood.

Hot.

_Fresh._

His stomach cramped and suddenly his vision was all gray and reds again...and all he could see was that heartbeat near the now present doorway to his cell. Banging and rattling the apparently barred metal door and its chain. He panted and crept forward before he quite knew what he was doing, before he caught himself and moved back again. Straining to keep himself _away_.

But his mouth _watered_. He wanted. _He wanted._

“Is...is someone else in here?”

Jonathan’s voice caught in his throat and he didn’t speak until the boy started to take a step forward. Away from the door. Away from where it was _safe_.

“H-hello?”

“ _Stay back!_ ”

The footsteps stopped and Rufus called out in an obviously nervous tone, “I...Doctor Reid? Is...is that you?”

“Yes,” he replied, kneeling down and pressing his forehead against the cool stone. He could feel his fangs digging deep into his gums, into his lips. Could taste his own blood on his tongue from where it cut into them but his own blood wasn’t pleasing. He wanted the hot blood beating under the boy’s skin.

Wanted to feel that heartbeat stutter and slow and _die_ as he had his fill.

_No._

He couldn’t!

He was a _doctor._

He had killed in the war but not like this. _Not like this._

“Do you need...help?”

Jonathan snapped, “No,” as quickly as he could. “You...you stay where you are, Rufus. You’re safe over there. As far away from me as you can be.”

Rufus took a step forward cautiously and called out, “I...I can _help_ , sir.”

“Not with this, Rufus. I need you to listen to me.”

“Doctor…”

Another shuffling step forward and he tensed, like a piano wire drawn too tightly, and dug his claws into the stone beneath him as he _trembled_. He would not. _He would not._

“ _Rufus! Listen to me!_ ” he shouted. “You _must_ stay back. You must. I am...I am dangerous to you. I need you to stay away from me.”

There was silence for a beat and then the boy muttered, “If you say so, sir. But...what are we going to do now?”

“You let me worry about that. Just...just stay over there. Near the door but not too close.”

“Alright. Alright, sir.”

He listened to the boy’s footsteps move and the distinct shuffle of fabric against stone, waiting for a very long time before he lifted his head to look. Thanks to his still gray vision, he could see Rufus was sitting down near the barred doorway, knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. And then he looked away because he could feel himself drawn towards that glowing red, to the steady thump of his heart in his chest.

Jonathan closed his eyes and clung to the floor, keeping his claws dug in deep...but he knew how this was going to go despite trying to lie to himself that he could keep from killing the boy.

Rufus had a good heart and he would inevitably get curious as boys do as well. And he would come too far into the room...into the reach of the chains. There would be no stopping him from attacking the boy if he came in close, he knew that.

Jonathan was not certain what was worse: that he _knew_ that this would end with him killing the boy or that he feared blacking out and waking to discover he’d done it more than doing it on instinct while fully aware.

No matter what...Rufus Kingsberry would be dead.

Just another gone missing in the chaos of disease ravaged London.

A boy no one would remember after.

No one...but himself.


	9. All Things Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dear readers! Just two chapters this week.
> 
> I hope everyone and those you know are still doing alright in these times and I'll see you all next week.

How many?

_How many?_

He did not know.

Lost track...somewhere.

Too many voices.

Too many memories.

Last thoughts.

Last _curses._

All mixing together. Voice into voice into voice, words becoming...jumbled. All those voices that he knew becoming mysteries. Echoes. Ghosts.

Haunting him.

He was used to it now, the dirt on his skin, the grime and _filth_ caked onto him and his clothes. To the blood dried into tacky knots in his beard and underneath his nails. To smelling like _death_. His cell was _death_.

Cell.

Home.

Whatever it was now.

How long since he’d been free? Since he had not been forced to kill?

Did he remember?

_Did he even remember anymore?_

He remembers a man extending a hand in friendship, remembers feeling _betrayed_ , remembers shedding blood to save him...but not his name. Remembers the man he fought....in the hospital...holding back fear to show him...something. He recalls a woman, red-haired, delicate _but not_ , and how she looked at him. How her green eyes were soft. How he felt...wanted.

He wants that back.

That life.

That man who had it.

Bowing his head, he whispered into the empty cell, “I...Jon-athan Reid. Doctor Jon-athan Reid. I am. Doctor. Healer. Not killer. _Not killer_. I am not this.”

“ _I am not what...what th-they make me._ ”

“ _Am Doctor Jon-athan Reid._ ”

“ _I am healer, not killer._ ”

Perhaps if he repeats it enough...they cannot take it from him.


	10. Awake to a New World

Geoffrey woke to shouting.

He couldn’t make out the words, they sounded...distant. Like he was hearing them through water or had cotton in his ears. It was just... _noise_. Just loud noise from somewhere away from him.

Grunting, he shifted and rolled, letting out a pained noise as he slammed into something hard. His face pressed against something cold. Smelled like...stone, filth, blood…

 _Blood_.

The realization of the smell hit like a punch to the gut and he felt his stomach cramp with hunger. Wild, _raging_ hunger. And thirst. He was so _thirsty_.

Fuck, where was he? He needed water.

Groaning, Geoffrey opened his eyes and saw nothing but red. Red on red on red, just shade after shade of it. “Wh-wha’s wrong wi’ m’eyes?” he managed to slur out. “Hello?”

Suddenly there was a distinct Iack of noise and something landed next to him, hands on his shoulders pulling him upright. He struggled weakly against the hands for a moment until he felt lips against his ear alongside the brush of a beard. “Peace,” whispered a voice he knew but could not put a name to. He _did_ know that it was his maker - whatever that word meant - and his body instantly relaxed into the hold on him.

There was a pleased hum in his ear and then a strange noise followed by the scent of blood _blood_ **blood**. Geoffrey whined and then lunged after the smell, snapping his teeth as he tried to close them around the origin of the smell. The motion tickled something familiar at the back of his mind but he couldn’t focus on what it was. He needed the blood. _He needed it._

“Shhh,” soothed his maker in his ear. An arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders and then the source of the blood pressed itself against his lips. He lapped his tongue over it and then bit down, moaning as he realized his teeth had been aching to bite down on something. The sweet liquid that flowed over his tongue in response was the most soothing thing he could ever remember drinking. He wanted _more_.

It didn’t seem like he drank for that long before the source was pulled away. Growling, he tried to follow but the arm around his shoulder tightened and his maker growled threateningly in his ear in return. On instinct he retreated and soothed himself by licking his lips to try and find every last trace of the delicious taste.

“Who?” he asked softly, leaning towards his maker.

“Just wait,” the deep voice in his ear soothed. “Will remember.”

Geoffrey huffed out a breath in response, leaning into the body next him. He then heard a scoff from far away before a voice said, “You have only made this harder on yourself, pet. I hope you don’t get too terribly attached to him, I doubt that he will survive in the end.” After that, footsteps retreated angrily away from them off somewhere beyond himself and his maker.

Caged, he remembered.

They were caged.

But...he couldn’t remember _why_.

Frowning, Geoffrey weakly sat up and looked around, seeing the area around them with new eyes. With eyes that could _see_ in the dark. He could remember...he could remember finding only darkness in this room, in this cage. Except for eyes gleaming at him from the dark.

The eyes of… “ _Reid?_ ” he breathed, snapping his head back around to the man next to him, to the vampire that was now his maker. _By his own choice._

A hand that was no longer cold to him cupped his cheek in return and that initial instinct that made him want to be close to the other was still there enough that he didn’t pull away from it. “McCullum,” Reid replied. “Remember now? Coming back?”

Geoffrey frowned even as he nodded in reply. “Slowly. That was...that was that French bastard, right?”

The hand fell away from his face as Reid made a hum of confirmation.

“And he seems to think I won’t fucking make it.”

“Perhaps think destroy each other,” Reid suggested. “Us. From hunger.”

He scoffed at that before laughing outright. “Sometimes I forget you’re a bloody novice, leech,” Geoffrey said. “Leeches won’t _die_ from hunger. Even the sun can only burn you down to bones.”

There was silence for a moment and then a quiet, “Us.”

It was a quiet reminder that he could no longer speak of vampires as something else. That he _was_ one of them now by his own choice.

Stilling, all humor vanished from him and he nodded slightly. “Right,” Geoffrey stated softly, licking his lips and tasting an echo of the blood that had been there moments ago. “ _Us_.” Because he _is_ a fucking leech now, there’s no going back from that.

No more alcohol or food.

No more stepping out before the evening fully fell to watch the sun set.

No more spending time with the Guard.

If they ever escaped this Hell, his entire life was _gone_.

Everything he had known...he could never go back to it.

Suddenly his cheeks were damp and he caught the faint scent of fresh blood in the air on top of the almost constant smell of old blood and offal that permeated the old cistern. Geoffrey then felt a hand slide into his, gripping tightly, and turned to look at the leech, at Reid, at _his maker_.

“Sorry,” Reid murmured. “Sorry.”

Geoffrey coughed, lifting his other hand to wipe at his face and scrubbed the wet remnants off onto his trousers. “It’s fine, leech,” he managed to say roughly. “I’ll live.”

“Yes,” the leech agreed, squeezing his hand again, his expression determined in the dark. “We live. _We live, McCullum._ ”

Letting out a choked laugh, he managed to squeeze the hand back and nodded, turning to look at his enemy who he was now bound to for whatever sort of life he had left. “Right,” he stated with a forced smile. “Live to spite the bastards, right?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Reid’s tone was so earnest, so hopeful even though they were surrounded by blood and death and God knew what other shit, that Geoffrey couldn’t help but find some kind of comfort in it. He would never have thought that he and the leech would be in on something together but this...this he could get behind.

And maybe, just maybe, together they could both make it out of this Hell.


	11. The Unscratchable Itch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes another round, friends.

It was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

The hunger clawed at the base of his spine, constant and unerring. As it had been since he had woken up. Since Reid had fed him his own blood it had been steadily downhill from there...and he was finding the same problem here that he had in his former holding cell.

Keeping track of time was almost impossible.

Despite the fact that they were dragged into sleep by the sunrise, it was still hard to keep track of how many of those times had even happened.

Geoffrey had no idea of how long he had been a vampire but the _hunger_...that had been there from the first moment he had woken up and hadn’t gone away. It was a constant thing ticking at the back of his mind, like a landmine on the field waiting to go off. He felt like he was one and just waiting for the right moment to go off.

What he had been rolling over and over in his head was the question of how long he could hold on to his sanity. Obviously Reid’s grasp on it was already lacking and he...wasn’t certain how long he was going to have a better than average grasp himself.

Saying he was going to live was all well and good...but how good was that life going to be trapped in a room, fed on scraps of blood and people. The one thing that he currently had going for him was the fact that he wasn’t chained down like Reid was.

Sighing, he rolled over from where he had been laying facing the wall furthest away from the door. The distinct shape of Reid was laying between him and the locked door itself, which was where he had been since the chains had been retracted back to their original length. If he thought that the leeches would actually have mortals working for them, he might be afraid to wake up in a set of chains himself. He didn’t think the bastards would sink low enough - from their viewpoint - to have those that they viewed as lesser working for them.

“Leech,” he called out softly. “You alive over there?”

There was a soft scoff in reply before Reid replied, “Am awake. Sun rise soon though. Feel it.”

“Right," Geoffrey mumbled. He sat up, Ieaning his back against the grime encrusted wall of the cistern, and propped his elbows on his knees as he raised them up in front of him. Sighing, he asked, “Does it ever go away? The hunger?”

The chains rattled as Reid shifted, his form framed by the light coming from the hallway. He could see the man sitting up now, turned towards his direction. "Sometimes...softer," he replied, looking like he was fiddling with the manacles around his wrists. "Depends on hour. How long between.”

The leech then tilted his head back towards the ceiling with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“Easier...out there. Free. Choose when to eat. _Choice._ ”

“Heh,” Geoffrey chuckled darkly. “The one thing they really did steal from us. Choice.”

Suddenly Reid’s head turned towards him and thanks to his own new _leech_ eyes, he could see the man smiling behind the matted state of his beard. A damned _smile_ in this fucking shithole of a place. “Got to make one,” his maker pointed out softly. “Not good choice...but choice.”

“You’re right, leech. So maybe we’ve got a few more choices in us, yeah?”

Reid just hummed in reply and nodded before he moved forward to the end of his chains, lifting one of his wrists abruptly to his mouth and biting into it, sucking at the wound for a moment. The scent of blood in the air made Geoffrey instantly sit up before he could stop himself, his entire body quivering in want for the sweet sustenance.

“ _Reid_ ,” he whined, feeling embarrassed that he was so weak to the pull of the blood but unable to stop himself. He wanted wanted _wanted._ At this rate, the first poor soul they dropped in here with them was going to go down in minutes.

“Come,” his maker soothed, blood dripping from his mouth. “Need strength.”

Geoffrey inched forward slowly towards the other man despite himself, stopping and settling on his knees just in front of him. “What about you?” he asked.

“Bound. _Leashed_ ,” Reid snarled in reply, jerking at the chains with his other hand and making them rattle loudly throughout their cage. His expression then softened and he extended the wrist he’d bitten into, blood dripping to the floor. “You are free. Can fight. Perhaps free us with luck.”

His eyes darted down to the bleeding wrist and then back up to Reid before he said, “I don’t know how to fight as a _leech_ , Reid.”

Those eyes that he knew were a feral blue-on-red but just looked dark even to his new eyes looked at him before Reid stated softly, “Can teach you.”

“Simple as that, leech?”

“Not simple. Hard. But what else to do? Die here?”

He scowled and snapped, “We aren’t _dying here_.”

Reid just cocked his head to the side, an amused smile on his face, and brandished his slowly healing wrist again. “Then _eat_ ,” he stated simply. “Before heal.” Geoffrey cursed and reached out to grasp the other man’s wrist, pulling it towards him as he let out a grumble of words as he bent down towards it.

“It’s not healing quickly because you’re feeding _me_ every spare drop you’ve got, you damned idiot.”

As he sank his fangs into the already open wound and drank, he felt fingers sift through his hair for a moment before Reid’s hand rested on his shoulder. And he didn’t quite understand what was meant by it when the man whispered almost to himself, “Will be _better_. Will _teach_. Not like last time. Not like _mine_.”

If the leech wanted to try to give him an advantage against the bastards that held them both...well, he wasn’t going to turn it down.


	12. Blood and Memories

Blood.

_Blood._

Blood for him and his maker.

Geoffrey growled as he dug his fangs into the throat of the woman that had been thrown in with them. Her face _itched_ at a memory in his head, some recollection of having seen her before. Somewhere...on a street? Standing by a cart? Selling...something?

_Swanborough._

_Loretta._

The thick, hot blood told the story that he couldn’t remember, the life he took from her giving him all of the details.

In the end the story didn’t matter.

They were hungry and she was there. Survival was all they were boiled down to at this point.

And they had even tried once to _not_ kill anyone. That experiment had ended with their captor dragging the street waif they had thrown into the cistern out into the hall, tearing him away from the small bit of safety they had managed to convince him was there, and slashing his throat, leaving him bleeding out in front of the door to cruelly tease them. The scent had driven both of them mad eventually. Reid had ended up madly clawing at the ground at the end of his chains, wild with hunger that bled over onto him. He, subsequently, had blacked out entirely and had come back to himself with his face pressed against the bars of the door, desperately trying to lick at what few dregs of blood that were trickling underneath it. The experience had been embarrassing...and sobering. After that...Geoffrey had decided to take things into his own hands.

Instead of waiting, he killed quick and clean and he drank for thirty beats of his now slowed heart before forcing himself to pull away. It was the hardest thing that he had to do in his life, to pull himself away from the hungry swallows of that hot blood. The first time...the first time he had only managed it at the end, when his own belly was near full to cramping. Then he dragged the body into the center of the room where Reid would set upon it and drain the rest of the blood from the already cooling corpse. Geoffrey would then drop the body at the door until the next time...and then everything would repeat all over again.

That was just how it was.

Survival...burned down to its core.

Letting out a growl of displeasure, Geoffrey released the woman, blood dribbling down his chin. He licked at the dregs as he grasped her limp body underneath the arms and dragged her over to the center of the room where Reid was crouched on all fours. Gently he lowered the woman’s body down in front of his maker and let out a low growl before he backed away a short space. “Eat,” he growled as he settled down onto his heels nearby. He could feel Reid’s hunger beating at him from within, as well as his disdain and disgust.

Slowly the other man reached out to brush the back of two of his claws across her cheek, a look of concerned confusion on his face. “Know her,” Reid growled. “Sold... sold something. Fake. Name is... _name is_ …”

“Reid,” Geoffrey growled. “ _Eat_.”

“Need remember,” Reid murmured. “Must try remember. Not forget.” Looking up at him, the man went on to say, “Remember who was. Have to. _Must_. Understand, please, Geoffrey?”

Sighing, Geoffrey replied, "Swanborough.”

“Swan…” The other man’s face then blanked out for a moment before realization crashed over his features. “Brother. Mason. She sold potions...he made. She…”

Leaning forward so he was resting on his knees with one hand braced against the stone floor, he reached out to grasp the back of Reid’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. Normally he would have spurned this sort of contact with anyone...but this was different. This entire situation that they had found themselves in was just so _different_. And this connection that he had with the man now had been annoying, still _was_ annoying.

Yet it was also the one even remotely good thing that he had to hold onto.

“ _Feed, leech_ ," he urged in a rough tone. Geoffrey curled his fingers into the short hairs at the back of Reid’s skull and growled, “You need to eat too. _Eat._ ”

"She…”

Interrupting, he snarled, “She’s _dead_ , leech. Her strength is our strength. Take it.” Then Geoffrey softened his voice, saying, “This is all we can do. We can’t _save them_ , Reid. You know that.”

There was a heavy sigh from his maker at that, followed by a little huff of breath, and then the man’s forehead pressed hard against his own as he leaned into the contact. “Can remember,” the man replied. “Can...can remember names. Who they were.”

“Leech. How many people have you eaten down here? Can _you_ even remember their names?”

No response came to his question but the feeling of guilt that suddenly felt like it was pounding through every part of his being was answer enough.

When Reid spoke again, there was the sound of tears in his voice.

“Can _try_. What else is?”

Pulling away, Geoffrey looked down at the dejected figure before him. Reid tilted his face up towards him, eyes gleaming eerily as they dimly reflected some of the light from the hallway, and he could make out the man’s sorrowful expression. After a moment, he let his shoulders slump before replying, “Nothing else. There is nothing else. But _this_? This is going to drive you mad, Reid. We can’t remember them all.”

“Can’t you hear?” his maker asked, shaking his head slightly. “Hear them speak? They cry and scream to me. For mother. For God.” Reid lifted a shaking hand to cup the side of his face, bloody claws curling into his hair. “Can’t...can’t remember their names. Faces. But they _scream_ always. Don’t yours?” Then he whispered breathlessly, bloody tears welling up in his eyes, “I...I think already _mad_.”

Geoffrey just stared at him, thinking of the panicked last thoughts of Loretta Swanborough still flickering through his head, of the man before her (Joseph was his name), and the young man before that (Thomas? _Had_ it been Thomas?). And cold fear curled in the pit of his stomach as he realized that perhaps it wasn’t just being alone that had driven Reid insane to the point of being nearly unable to speak.

They were _haunted_ by those they consumed.

How long would it be before he was in the same state as Reid? How many had it taken before Reid had begun doubting his own sanity? How many would it take to bring _him_ down? He was already forgetting things.

More importantly...how long would it be before he might also begin losing his grasp of language? And when he did, would they both then just become worse and worse until _neither_ of them were capable of speech? Would they then become whatever the hell those bastards who had taken them intended Reid to become?

Whatever happened...they were no longer enemies. They were in this _together_.

He had even stopped thinking of Reid as a _leech_. Part of that was perhaps the frustrating connection between them that he could not ignore, that was living and breathing in any interaction they had. And sometimes he could _hear_ Reid’s thoughts as well as feeling his emotions.

Leaning in once more, Geoffrey pressed his forehead to the other man’s again and softly stated, “Then we’ll keep each other sane, Reid. Grounded. But I need you to _eat_.”

The other man sighed heavily and mumbled, “So tired, McCullum.”

“So am I, Reid. So am I.”

Reid let out a long exhalation and then pulled away from him as he nodded. “Will eat,” he said softly. Then his hand shifted to grip Geoffrey’s face, claws pricking his skin, before he smiled and added, “For you.”

As Reid pulled away from him, Geoffrey sat there blinking for a long moment, trying to sort out the emotions coming across this...bond...that they had. It was _warmth_ and _care_ along with a heavy sense of gratefulness that seemed to weigh on his chest. He had never felt anything like it...but he had never before been able to sense the emotions of another person like this. Anyone that he had been close to before was nothing compared to this.

This was all new and foreign to him...and he had to quickly accept it all in order to _maybe_ survive this.

Accept or die.

Survival only.


	13. Memories and Mysteries

He forgot...more. Little things gone now, big things. Could not remember so much.

Man who helped...friend...was blurring. Could not recall face clearly anymore. Brown hair? Graying? Glasses? A... skull? And...and prog-eny? His?

The woman? Red... yes, red hair? A face...a kind face? He could remember a soft smile for him. Soft smile and affection. Gentle touch. He missed her.

There were...others. Not prey. No, no, prey not word. Prey what _they_ wanted him to see. Word was... victims. Not victims. Not one of the voices.

One was older woman, greying...sad. She was sad and he felt sad for her. She was...important...somehow. He cared for her...but not recall why. All else he felt for her was _home_. She was home.

Other was young woman. Dark hair. Sad eyes, half-mad. Could remember _fighting her_. Stabbing her because she _asked_. Thinking of her made him want to weep, to cry, scream in fury and rage. He remembered other flashes of her face, young, older, happy, sad. A... a bond, once strong, then weak...then gone. Empty. Dead.

No names.

Shadowy faces.

Mysteries.

Only clear faces in his head were two: the bastard who caged them and Geoffrey. One he hated, wanted dead, one thing he wanted to _tear_ and _rip_ and _kill_. Other...other was different. Not enemy, not friend. Ally. Progeny. One thing he had in this Hell.

Touchstone.

Jonathan let out a small huff of breath and weakly rolled over onto his side from his back. He slid his hand slowly along the dirty, grime encrusted stones in the dark before he found the other man’s back. At the touch Geoffrey let out a grunt before asking softly, “Need something, Jon?”

_Jon._

His name. Who he was. Not what they tried to make him.

Rare to hear from Geoffrey...but heard enough to make a difference.

He opened his mouth and replied, “Thinking.”

“Of what?”

“Forgotten things. Hard to remember. People...people once knew.”

At his reply Geoffrey shifted, causing Jonathan to pull his hand back for a moment as the other man moved. When he settled back down they were face to face in the darkness. Only now it was no longer the half darkness that they had become familiar with. Instead this was a true darkness, all sources of light gone.

And they had ceased feeding them...three days ago? Four? Six?

He was losing track of...everything.

Even their sleep forced by the sun was dragging out longer, bodies unable to wake as quickly without a consistent supply of blood.

Jonathan reached out again and pressed his hand against the other man’s chest, feeling the slow beat of his heart underneath his palm. It was steady. Firm. Just like the steady presence growing stronger in his mind, so different from...from the man he couldn’t remember. The graying glasses.

A heavy hand closed over his own and he instinctively scooted closer to the one source of company and comfort he had. Geoffrey chuckled dryly and asked, “Lonely, leech?”

He Iicked his lips and replied, “Such time alone...just voices. Screaming.” Jonathan curled his fingers slightly, pressing his fingertips into the other man’s chest. He then flattened his hand again and slid it upwards until he touched not fabric but skin, feeling more reassured by touching skin-to-skin than simple touch itself. “Having someone...here,” he continued, “helps. Focus. Keeps...touch of the sane. Not help you the same?”

Geoffrey’s hand had followed his as he moved and he laid his hand flat over it. “It helps,” was all the former hunter allowed. He then grunted, a sound that Jonathan both heard and felt through their contact with each other. “Who are you forgetting?”

He wrinkled his nose and replied, “There was...man. Progeny, like you. Friend. He...brown hair, graying. Glasses.”

“Swansea,” came the swift reply without hesitation. “Runs Pembroke Hospital. Gave you a job from what I understand. Place to hide.”

“Swansea? Edgar? Edgar.”

Geoffrey then added, “My men kidnapped him, you remember that? Tortured him without my knowledge. That’s why you turned him...at least that’s why I assume you turned the bastard.”

That abruptly caused a surge of fractured memory and Jonathan breathed, “Theatre. He was bleeding. Beaten. Chained to ceiling. Ribs were broken. Could see him fading... dying. Would have died, couldn’t let him.”

“What happened was never what I intended.”

“Know,” Jonathan stated, “Can feel did not mean to kill. Wanted...justice. For people, for city. Can understand that want.”

The other man let out a long breath that he felt across his face before Geoffrey asked, “Who else is on your list, leech?” Jonathan knew enough about the other man now - and _felt_ enough now through a connection closer than he had had with anyone else - that he knew calling him _leech_ was now a sign of discomfort. As well as wanting to move the conversation on.

“Woman,” he replied. “Red hair. She…”

Jonathan stopped and wrinkled his brow, thinking hard before he spoke again.

“I think...perhaps...there was something. With us. Not...love. Could have been...before…this.”

The hand resting on top of his own tightened and Geoffrey softly said, “I can’t give you a name, Reid. My men never made note of any redheaded leeches around you. The only one they ever made note of was that crazy patient and I could tell from the reports I got that she wasn’t a leech. But I’m…”

There was a long beat of silence and then he went on, “I am sorry. For what you lost.”

“So am I,” Jonathan murmured. He then closed his eyes as he felt tears well up, not needing them to fall. Needed to save blood. Needed to…

The sense of his loss was sudden. Overwhelming.

His friend.

The old woman who felt like home.

The young woman he...he killed. Lost.

And the woman...the woman he could have...perhaps...loved someday.

For the first time since those initial days he had spent alone, chained in the dark, starving and afraid, everything was too much. It exploded, all fury and anger and sadness, like claws digging into his chest. He felt Geoffrey tense up, muscles going taut beneath his hand, and knew that the other man felt what he felt. Felt all of the pain and sadness.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist and he was pulled forward into the other man’s chest, his chains rattling loudly at the sudden movement. Jonathan pressed his face against his progeny’s chest, claws shredding more of what was left of the other man’s shirt, and wept. He wept for what he could not remember as well as what and who he could. For the lives they had taken...and would still take. For himself. For Geoffrey.

He wept until he felt spent, until he was just slumped against the other man, comforted at least a little by his presence. Having someone with him...it made everything easier to deal with the hurt.

Jonathan pressed his face against Geoffrey’s throat, breathing in the man’s scent. For someone who was once his enemy, it was a shock to realize that the man’s scent under all of the blood and grime translated to his own brain as something like _home_. Not like the old woman. Not like that. Yet something distinctly _his_.

Geoffrey was silent through it all and he could _feel_ his discomfort...but he did not push him away.

That mattered.

It meant something.

After a moment, Jonathan breathed, “Apologize.”

A grunt answered him and then a soft, “Don’t worry about it, Jon.”

He rested his forehead against the other man’s sternum and just _breathed_.

He was broken, so broken, no longer anything like the man he had been...but he wasn’t alone. _He wasn’t alone._

That was all that mattered to him now in this Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this time, friends. I hope you are all still well and I'll see you next week for more chapters.


	14. Alone in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! I'm a little late in posting today but here we are.

_He woke alone._

The lukewarm body heat and presence that had become so familiar was gone. Gone. _Gone._

Jon scrambled upright onto his hands and knees, the torpor that his rest during the day brought vanishing as terror took over, chains rattling and shaking around him as he felt around desperately in the pitch black darkness. “Geoffrey?” he called out in fear, his voice feeling like it was shaking in his throat. “Geoffrey? _Geoffrey, please._ ”

He let his vision shift to grays and reds so that he could see in the dark...but there was nothing. _Nothing_. Just himself in his chains in the filthy cistern.

Alone.

_Alone._

“ _Geoffrey_ ,” he breathed as he pawed at the stones where the man had last been. Then he clawed at them, desperate, _frenzied_ , and he howled in the darkness because he was _gone_. And he was alone again.

Jonathan screamed, his voice an echoing roar in the room that felt like it rattled the very stones beneath him, and he reached out instinctively for that bond. For that sensation of someone _else_ in the back of his head that had become so familiar in desperation to touch _something_. He caught a mind connected to his own and _dove_ , barrelling headlong into it and through the fragile barrier it attempted to throw up in response. For a moment he saw through their eyes...but it was not darkness or another cage of stone or metal. It was a room, an office, a desk before him with a skull and hands...hands not his own.

_J-Jonathan?_

That voice…? He knew it. Knew _them_.

But they were not Geoffrey.

Tearing himself away from the other mind, vaguely aware of them crying out in pain, he sought out the one he wanted. He threw himself into it desperately, barely aware of his own body still flailing and howling in the dark, his claws tearing out chunks of stone from the floor before they tore and bled out onto the floor. But there was nothing, no response, not a flicker.

_Nothing._

Nothing, nothing, he was alone again, alone, alone, _alone_ , just him, just the voices, _alone again going mad_.

“Please,” Jonathan begged in a whisper, coming somewhat back to himself lying on the stone floor, his broken and bleeding claws still weakly raking across the broken ground. “ _Please_.”

 _Geoffrey_ , he cried out mentally. _Don’t leave me._

“ _Don’t leave me alone._ ”

Suddenly the door that had been shut for so long was jerked open and he howled in pain, covering his head as he buried his face against the floor. As he cowered from the light to protect his sensitive eyes, Jonathan heard _that voice_.

“I told you not to get attached didn’t I, pet?” the vampire asked in a faux gentle tone that still carried so much disdain and menace. “This is what happens when bad hounds do not obey their trainers. If you had just killed him like you were supposed to, pet, you wouldn’t be feeling this pain. _This_ is why you should trust me and follow my orders. Cease fighting me.”

Jonathan could feel the howl of agony still lingering in his throat but held it back as he lifted his head, eyes squinted against the light that was searing into them so he could at least partially see the bastard’s shadow in the doorway. Instead he bared his fangs and snarled, “ _Fuck. You._ ”

Angry silence was all that answered him for a moment and then the man hissed, “I will _break you_ , hound. You have my promise on that.” The door then slammed shut again with a loud crash and a rattling of the barred inner door, placing him in darkness again.

He lay there simply breathing for a moment and then let his head drop to the floor again, the howl trapped in his throat coming out as a low mournful keen.

What would happen now?

_You fall. You die. Suffer for our deaths, monster. Suffer. Suffer! Drown in agony, beast, like how I did in my own blood. You don’t deserve to live. Just give up. Give up. GIVE UP. You’re nothing but a monster anyway. You were never a healer! Our blood will always be on your hands!_

Jonathan wailed as the voices clamored for attention all at once, digging his battered claws into the stone floor. Maybe he did deserve this.

Maybe he _should_ give up.

Maybe…

Suddenly there was a spark of sensation across the top of his skull and _consciousness_ bloomed within his own. _Leech?_ came Geoffrey’s ’voice’ weakly. _Jon?_

He held his breath for a moment, fearing it might be a trick of his mind, then focused and ’replied’, _Geoffrey?_

There was a sensation of some sort of response but he did not actually hear anything else in his mind. No voices but those of the dead taunting him with his failures toward all he had cared about. Yet there was a clear _presence_ there and it _was_ Geoffrey. He knew it. _He knew it was_.

Jonathan closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against the broken stones beneath him and just _breathed_.

He wasn’t alone.

Geoffrey was still there.

Still alive.

That was what mattered. That was what he could hold onto.

He tried his best to reach out across that tenuous bond between them, to try and send a sense of comfort of some kind...though his lingering fear probably also came across. There was a tentative response and then something stronger latched on and for a moment he felt that same sensation from earlier, of being in another body looking through their eyes. Only here all he could see was darkness.

Just as quickly as it was there it was gone but not before one message came across in Geoffrey’s voice, though it came through brokenly.

_...live to spite...bastards. With me...leech…?_

Smiling to himself, Jonathan nodded into the floor before he replied and hoped the other man heard enough.

_Am with you, hunter. Until the end._


	15. I Am You, You Are Me, We Are Us

Time was harder and easier after they separated them. Being alone again in his cell was as much a torture as anything else they had done to him.

But it became easier in other ways.

They _adapted_ to being apart.

That bond between them as maker and progeny had only become stronger. They had each sunk into it, further opening the connection between them. Becoming something that should have been terrifying and, quite honestly, was such to both of them...but survival trumped fear.

However long it had been - Geoffrey had begun counting time with those he ate, which was not a very good system since they were never fed consistently but it was _something_ \- they were no longer just Geoffrey and Jonathan.

They were Geoffrey _and_ Jonathan.

An _us_ , not a _he_ or _I_.

Whatever happened now...it was the two of them together no matter what. Even apart, they were together. They barely even needed words now, they were so mentally intertwined. They merely _thought_...and the other _knew_.

When the door to one cell opened, the other flinched as if it was their own. The pleasure from one feeding rolled over onto the other, never fully satiating the hunger of either but enough to momentarily fool it. His anger was his. His fear was his. _Everything was shared_.

Jonathan lifted his head weakly as his cell door opened, feeling Geoffrey tense up. They had been feeding his progeny regularly enough for some reason but it had been...how long had it been since they had tossed anyone into his cell? Five of Geoffrey’s kills? Six? Seven?

 _Eight_ , came the answer to his mind, clear as day. No way of knowing how long it had actually been since then. Weeks? A month? How were they to know?

“Here, pet,” was that bastard’s announcement as he unceremoniously shoved another poor soul into the cistern. “We can’t have you just lying on the floor like that. Sometime soon your future master will be coming to visit in order to see how my work on his new hound is going and I _expect_ to show him some results, not just some weakling collapsed on the floor. My hard work on you _will be rewarded_...one way or another.”

“Hey!” shouted the woman who had been shoved in as both doors were slammed shut behind her, leaving them in total darkness. “What did that mean? What is this? _Do you know who I am?!_ ”

Whoever she was didn’t matter and never would. Just one more body for the pile. One more screaming voice in his head. What was one more now?

Neither of them remembered the names anymore.

He had stopped trying after they had taken Geoffrey away from him.

What _did matter_ was this new knowledge. Whoever had done this to him - _to them_ \- was coming to them. And would inevitably find only find failure in return for whatever they had paid for this.

It might be a chance.

For freedom.

For revenge.

Jonathan heaved himself up off the stone floor onto his knees, the rattling of the chains catching the attention of the woman. His vision had already shifted to grey and reds in order to see her, her heartbeat already hammering wildly with fear. “Who’s there?!”

_Kill._

_Survive._

_**Kill.** _

**_Survive._ **

That was what was.

That was what they were now.

Killers. Survivors.

He licked his lips and called out, “Friend. Safe. Safe here.” A lie. They both knew it was a lie...but vampires lie. _They lied._

“Safe?” the woman repeated with a choked laugh. “This is a hole in the ground that smells like a poor gutter. And who are you, _friend_ , to tell me I’m safe?”

Jonathan got fully to his feet, swaying slightly with the weakness that had been plaguing him while they had starved him, and slowly shuffled forward. They had loosened his chains...at some point...and he could reach her. _He could reach her._ Drink her. God, he was so _hungry_.

_Eat._

_Feed._

_Drink._

_Kill._

_Live._

The words thrummed through them both, darting from one mind to the next as they repeated them to each other in voices that weren’t voices. Thoughts drifting into thoughts as the throbbing pulse of the hunger burning in his veins surged through them both. Consumed them both.

“What are you doing?” he heard the woman demand angrily. Then there was fear in her voice and he heard her back hit the barred door, making it rattle and fill the cistern with vibrations for a moment. “Stop that! Get back! _Get away from me!_ ”

“Sorry,” he murmured as he kept moving forward, the red outline of her heart and blood system _burning_ in the pitch black dark. Jonathan reached out and found her face, grasping it roughly in his clawed hand and felt her panicked breath on his face as he leaned down towards her. Her hands rose to grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away but her tugs were weak in their desperation as she started sobbing, what little bravado she had had disappearing in the pitch black darkness.

“Please!” she exclaimed. “Please, I have...I have a daughter! _Please_.”

He paused, halfway through bending his head towards her throat, the thought of a child without a mother breaking through the hunger consuming him. _Drink_ , came across their bond, insistent and firm. Then more gently, _She’s dead already, Jon._

Dead already.

Like them.

Like all the others.

Her heartbeat thundered in his ears, _their ears_ , and she screamed as he buried his fangs in her throat. She struggled underneath him but he pressed her against the wall with his weight, chains rattling against the stones, as her blood flowed over his tongue in a rush because of her frantic efforts. Jonathan growled, eyes fluttering shut as he drank from her, the hunger hammering back and forth from him to Geoffrey and back again.

_“How dare you! I had a child! I had a child...what about my baby? You, monster, what about my baby?!”_

_Minnie Strout._

That was her name.

It and her final words were lost under the hunger, buried beneath the burning lust that drove him onward. To drink and drink _and drink_ from the life spilling veins until he could drink no more. Until full. Sated.

Except they were never sated.

 _They_ had reassured they would not be sated by starving them.

Always hungry.

_Always hungry._

He could no longer remember what it was to not be hungry.

_Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon. Come back. Jon. JON._

Jonathan twitched and then pulled away from the woman...Minnie. He couldn’t see her body in the dark but he could feel how cold she was slumped in his arms, both of them collapsed onto the floor of the cistern. Slowly letting her body down near the door, he shuffled backwards across the floor, feeling both too full and _sated_ but also still so hungry.

Turning around, his back towards the door, he sat down on the floor with his head in his hands, wet blood still dripping from his matted beard. Even though Geoffrey was not there physically, he had the odd sensation of the man being there with him in that moment. As if they were sitting back to back in the darkness.

 _Stay with me_ , came the impression across his mind as he sat there because he was no longer mournful for the lives he was taking. He didn’t care. _He didn’t care._ He had drunk that woman - Minnie, Minnie, _Minnie_ , he would remember for as long as he could - dry and felt no regret.

He was becoming what they wanted. A monster.

_Reid. Jon. Stay with me._

Letting out a heavy breath, Jonathan dropped his hands into his lap and sat up straight, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling in the darkness.

 _Am here,_ he returned, wishing he cared enough now to cry. _Am here._

_Not leaving you._

_Never leaving you._

_We stay._

_Together?_

_Together._


	16. Three Months Gone

“I am absolutely certain of what I felt, Elisabeth. It _was_ Jonathan!”

“After all of this time? Why would he reach out _now_ of all times, now when we were beginning to lose any hope?” She sighed in her seat across from him in her parlor and he watched her carefully. Though her posture never wavered and her shoulders never slumped, it was still obvious in the air about her how the absence of their friend had wounded her.

However, a fair part of it might also be _unease_ with his own presence. Elisabeth had tolerated his presence since Jonathan’s disappearance and had even gone so far as to allow him into her home at times...but the friendship they had once had was gone. She was closed to him, distant...and he could not blame her for keeping him at arm’s length. He _had_ betrayed her and such was a guilt he had to live with.

Edgar could not fault her for keeping her distance.

“Perhaps fate has other ideas,” he suggested.

Elisabeth scoffed and replied, “You have never been superstitious, Doctor Swansea.” Ah, back to _titles_ between them, yes. “Still...it has been three months without a word. Nor even a sign from what you have detailed to me. So why all of a sudden would he reach out to you?”

Shrugging, Edgar replied, “Alas these are not answers we shall have without finding him, dear lady.” He then frowned, rubbing at his chin, before he continued, “He felt wild. _Desperate_.”

“From hunger?”

“No. No, not hunger. It was there but it wasn’t the drive behind him. _Fear._ He was afraid, Elisabeth. I can still feel the echo of it when I think of it. And he was searching for something. Or someone. I received little else from him besides an impression of pain and darkness.” Edgar then frowned and closed his eyes, falling back into that short instant of time where his maker had wildly _forced himself_ into his mind. For a moment Jonathan’s eyes had been his...and his had been Jonathan’s. “I believe he may be in danger. There was only darkness that I could see but there was an overpowering scent of old blood. Like an abattoir.”

Elisabeth frowned slightly but her hands curled into fists in her lap.

“Edgar,” she began slowly, “do you believe that he has stayed away of his own will?”

“No, my lady. Knowing Jonathan, even as little as I do, I do not believe him the type to make promises and then renege upon them without a word,” he replied. He then looked steadily at her and added, “And I do not believe you think such of him either.”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile in return and a slight shake of her head.

“You would be correct, I do not. But without a hint as to where he might have gone, I have had little other choice. If it is as you say, however, we should not be waiting for him.”

He stiffened. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, Doctor Swansea, that our _friend_ is in danger and potentially being held against his will by what you have recounted here. Someone _has him_ and I intend to discover who it is.”

Edgar pressed himself back into his chair slightly as the very air about her seemed to change, to _darken_ in a fashion. He felt like a deer before a wolf all of a sudden, even though they were both predators themselves now, as her stare bored into him.

“I shall not lose him, Doctor Swansea,” Elisabeth declared firmly, a thread of menace in her voice. “Not if it is within my power to stop it. And any who should happen to stand in my way shall suffer for what they have done.”

Abruptly Edgar felt as if he was seeing a wholly different Elisabeth. Not the polite, kind woman he had met so many years ago, who he had proposed to help cure her hunger for blood. No. No, _this_ woman before him was the blood daughter of William Marshal. His progeny. _Marshal’s daughter_ who had survived decades of time beyond his own.

And he owed her something of an apology beyond words. Words were not enough to make up for what he had done nor the trust he had betrayed.

“I will do whatever I can to aid you, dear lady,” Edgar said earnestly. “Ask it and I will do anything to help find him.” He then lowered his voice as he added, “I owe you an apology that I will spend centuries working through. What I did betrayed you so thoroughly and I would not blame you if you wished to never see me again.”

She merely sat in silence for a long time just watching him with that predator stare before she spoke again. He very nearly flinched at what she was to say but managed to avoid doing so. Whatever words she replied with, he no doubt would deserve them.

When Elisabeth opened her mouth and finally spoke, her voice was lower and more even than he had expected.

“I doubt I shall ever forgive you, Edgar,” she stated flatly. “Nor will anything that you do across the centuries be enough to make up for the harm you caused myself or this city. However...I will welcome your help in this, given you are the only connection I have with Jonathan.” That predator’s stare caught him again and he froze, breath caught in his throat. “You are the very best bet to aid in finding him.”

“I-I will do what I can.”

“Excellent.”

She then rose abruptly from her seat and moved towards the fire blazing in her fireplace, staring down into the flames for a long moment. The light from it cast her face into odd, eerie shadows and he felt like he was suddenly looking at a creature behind his ken. Then she turned to look at him and slowly said, “Tell me, Doctor Swansea...who in this city that we know of would have cause to harm our good friend?”

Edgar frowned then replied, “Geoffrey McCullum is most likely but there are rumors that even _he_ has vanished. And from what I recall, he and Jonathan came to some sort of truce at the least.”

“Who else?”

_Who else?_

He started to open his mouth to say _none_ then stopped himself. That was decidedly not true. There was no doubt _one_ person in the city that might very well have good cause in their own mind to harm their friend.

“Ascalon,” he murmured, looking up at her for confirmation.

Elisabeth nodded sharply and replied, “Lord Redgrave.”

“If he has taken him...how can we hope to find him?” he asked. “And do you truly think that Redgrave would stoop to such lows?”

She scoffed and turned towards the fire again, mouth pulled into a grim line. “You have not heard the same tales of him that I have, Doctor,” she said grimly. “I have no doubt that he is the cause, if not the hand itself that has robbed us of Jonathan. We have connections in this city, you and I, both mortal and immortal. I suggest we use them.”

Nodding, Edgar rose nervously from his seat as he said, “Discover what we can on our own ends and piece it together from there? A fine idea, my lady. I will... _we will_...begin at once!” He then tempered his own excitement - the prospect of something of a mystery and a hunt intriguing him, even if it was not medical - and said in a more sedate tone, “We _will_ find him, my lady.”

“We will,” she echoed, staring into the fire without looking at him. “Thank you, Doctor Swansea. I will contact you at the Pembroke in two weeks to share whatever information we have gathered.”

Knowing a dismissal when he heard it, Edgar gave a slight bow and then fled the house, not even daring to look towards the glowering form of Charlotte Ashbury seated in a chair outside of the room he’d met her mother in. As he made his way towards the Pembroke, he stopped abruptly in the shadows of a building and closed his eyes, trying to reach out towards his maker.

_Jonathan?_

_Jonathan, can you hear me?_

Nothing.

Not even a whisper.

Sighing, he stepped away from the wall and continued on his way, shadowstepping across the canal from Finsbury to reach his own territory on the other side. Though his thoughts were consumed with beginning to put together the pieces of what he could do as he made his way up to his office, he still politely nodded at the staff that were in the halls so late.

They would find him.

They _must_ find him.

Or else he feared that their dear friend would be lost to them forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this week, my friends! We'll see what comes of these ongoing rescue attempts of our poor lads next week.


	17. A Shadow of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, fair readers. With everything going on right now, I somehow completely forgot yesterday was Saturday. In apology, I give you _three_ chapters today instead of the two I intended.
> 
> Our finale (for this part of the story) will follow next week.

_Jacob._

There was very little that was still capable of rattling her given the amount of centuries she had seen and the things that she had done. Even the Spanish Influenza that had struck London twice over was no surprise to her. She had watched her own family and almost all of those she knew die to the Black Death before her father had saved her from suffering the same fate. Seen that plague strike again and again before it was finally put to rest. The only shock of late had been her own unknowing part that had been played in the epidemic of feral Skals that had plunged the city into chaos. Yet Jonathan, her dear sweet Jonathan, had convinced her to return to London to give him a chance to fight the affliction still lingering in her own veins thanks to her father.

But this?

Seeing her Jacob in the flesh, even from so far away, feeling his presence _crawl_ against her mind?

It had been one hundred and twenty-five years since the day she had left him, finally unable to stomach the _rot_ that had infested her heart and soul for so long. Since she had drank her father’s antidote and become herself again. Become _Elisabeth_ again and no longer _Lady Blackwood_.

Seeing him again rattled her to the core.

Did he still bear the name she had chosen for herself when she had left her father’s side? The name he said he would carry to his second death to show how loyal he was to her, how much he loved her.

Elisabeth was no longer certain it had ever been love between them. Perhaps instead it had merely been the lust of one killer for another of its kind. They had certainly taken great pleasure in killing mortals together over the years after she had given him her blood when he had been dying in some street in France, half-gutted by a sword.

She narrowed her eyes as she watched him, keeping her distance, keeping her presence close, her mind wrapped in layers of silence. Alerting him to her presence was not something that she wanted.

How long had he been in London, she wondered, without her knowing? A more concerning thought: did he know that _she_ was in London? Did he know of her _daughter_? Fear for Charlotte - who was out of her house, outside of the circle of her _protection_ now - tried to rise but she quelled the emotion quickly.

Her daughter was safe.

And Jacob was...speaking to a woman on the side of the street. A bedraggled looking figure that had obviously seen better days. She narrowed her eyes, almost expecting him to take the poor soul aside into a dark alley, but he surprised her. Instead of ushering her away, he bent his head towards the woman as he took both of her hands in his, speaking almost...gently...to her from what she could see from her vantage point. He spoke to her for a few minutes and then leaned in to kiss her forehead before he turned and moved on on his way along the roadway, off to some other part of the West End.

Only stepping forward when she was certain he was well out of the area, Elisabeth moved towards where she had seen him with the woman, who had since disappeared into a little nook of an alley between two of the homes there. She could see her crouched in the dark shadows between them and there was a... _sound._

An all too familiar sound of teeth tearing flesh.

_Jacob. What have you done?_

“Miss?” she called out cautiously as she approached the mouth of the alley. “Miss, are you well?”

The young woman was _human_ , she could see it in her quickened heartbeat and the steady pulse of her blood in her body as she let her vision flicker to grays and reds for a moment. Yet she was eating...what _was_ she eating?

“Miss?” Elisabeth asked again, resting one hand on the wall of one of the houses.

Within the alley, the young woman turned from her almost feral crouch, her filthy hands clutching at the equally filthy body of a dead rat. There was a hunk of flesh torn from its middle, fur and skin and meat gone to expose glistening muscle and welling blood and it was obvious where it had gone as she was chewing vigorously on something. Blood dribbled down her chin, spattering the ground as well as her once fine skirt. But her eyes…

Elisabeth saw _horror_ in those eyes behind the nearly dead gaze.

Horror at being witnessed in her terrible punishment.

At being so _debased_ and brought down, forced to act like nothing more than an animal.

Oh, she had no doubt that this was Jacob’s work. It was exactly what he would do to amuse himself when they would linger in an area after a feast, finding some poor soul or souls who happened to still live and breaking them until they did what he wanted. He had taken such delight in watching them as they cut themselves or ate flesh from the bodies of those dead or whatever other _punishment_ his twisted mind could derive.

Or what punishments _she_ had offered up as suggestions for she too had once been so cruel as to not stop him.

Not now.

Not ever again.

“ _Come_ ,” she commanded, holding out her hand towards the woman. When she hesitated, Elisabeth narrowed her eyes and put more force behind the compulsion dripping from her voice, “ _Come with me._ ”

“N-no,” the poor woman managed to stammer. She abruptly stood, rat falling to the ground, and backed away. “He...he will leave me. The rats. I have to... _the rats_.”

“He will do nothing more to you, my dear,” Elisabeth insisted. “This is _cruel_ what he has done to you, can’t you see that? Let me help you.”

“He...the answers are in the rats. He…” The woman stopped and abruptly tears filled her voice as she breathed, “Help me, please.”

Extending her hand, Elisabeth said firmly, “I will help you, child. Take my hand. Come here. _Come._ ” This time she put a gentler compulsion on the words and the poor soul in the alley took a somewhat stumbling step forward, grime-ridden and bloody fingers sliding into her palm, shaking like a leaf. Gently closing her fingers around that hand, she slowly pulled the poor soul out into the light and her eyes widened as she realized she recognized the young woman.

“Carina Billow,” she breathed. “You were once acquainted with my daughter, Charlotte. Charlotte Ashbury?” Elisabeth searched the young woman’s face for recognition of the name and thought she saw a flicker of it in those haunted eyes. “What happened to you, child?”

“I looked. Looked where I shouldn’t have looked,” Carina replied shakily. “He...he found me. Promised me...things. Told me... _made me_...oh God, forgive me, _the rats_.”

“Shh, shh, calm down, child. What did he tell you about the rats?”

Carina started to turn back towards the alley, towards the cooling corpse there, but Elisabeth tugged on her hand, bringing her attention back to her. The poor woman grimaced and brought her other hand up to her mouth, rubbing her grimy hand across her lips and smearing blood across her cheek. Elisabeth’s nostrils flared involuntarily at the scent of it but Carina did not appear to notice, her eyes unfocused and somewhere else.

She breathed, “Eternal life through the blood of the lesser beasts. God help me.” Her fingers abruptly clutched at Elisabeth’s hand and those unfocused eyes turned towards her but still weren’t...there. “He was so handsome. Charming. He...he asked me if I’d obey him in every way.”

“And you said yes,” Elisabeth pressed. Carina just nodded and then breathlessly continued onward.

“He promised me eternal life... _he promised me_...and I must eat rodents to attain it. He said...he said their flesh contains the path to immortality. I have to eat them _all_ if I want to live.” The young woman’s eyes then focused on her and she insisted, “You’re like him, aren’t you? Please save me. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

Fighting a grimace of disgust, Elisabeth squeezed her hand gently and shook her head slightly. Jacob had utterly _broken_ this poor soul. Perhaps she could one day break the compulsion that he had placed Carina under...but to do so might cause her shattered mind even further harm. Would it be kinder to release her from such a tortured existence?

Turning her head to look in the direction that he had disappeared, she pursed her lips into a thin line. No, she would not simply kill this young woman. That might be the kinder option but that did not necessarily mean it was the _right_ option.

“I am like him,” she replied gently, lifting her other hand to pet Carina’s hair. “But I am going to help you. Truly help you, Carina.” Elisabeth then tilted her head down slightly so she could meet the young woman’s distant stare and whispered harshly, “Jacob Blackwood will no longer harm you.”

 _Fear_ entered those eyes as soon as she spoke the name and then it passed, replaced with...gratitude. So it _had_ been her Jacob indeed that had broken this poor soul. And that answered her question.

He still used her name.

The fool.

Sentimental fool.

“Thank you,” Carina breathed. “Thank you, _thank you_ , God bless you.”

Elisabeth forced a gentle smile at the young woman and said, “Come now, Carina. Let me take you somewhere safe. Will you eat something else if I get it for you? Something besides the rats?”

“I...yes. _Please_.”

Nodding, she pulled Carina away from the grimy alley and the rat corpse within, back towards her own home. Thankfully she kept more than simply tea in her home - even though she could not consume it herself - for her daughter if need be, so she could find something for this poor soul. She wasn’t certain as to what help she could give her…but Jacob was _her_ progeny. It was _her_ fault that he even lived, that he had broken this girl like so many others.

Thus she would do her best to pick up the pieces.

Perhaps Carina could help lead her to _why_ he was in London. And she had a cold knot of fear in her belly that Jacob - her jealous, _jealous_ Jacob - was somehow involved in the disappearance of Jonathan.

If he was, if he had _harmed him_...she would finally do what she should have done instead of leaving him to his own devices.


	18. A Plan to Move Forward

Edgar looked up at there was a knock at his office door, calling out, “Enter!” as he looked back down at his paperwork. As the door opened, he glanced up and saw that it was Elisabeth entering, leading a nervously fidgeting young woman behind her by the hand. He frowned, sitting up and setting his pen aside as he said, “Oh. Well. I was not aware that we were to have company, Elisabeth.”

“She knows of what we are, Doctor Swansea,” she stated flatly as she led the young woman into the office, stopping in front of the desk and gently reaching up to pet her hair. Her tone gentled as she spoke to her, saying, “This is Edgar Swansea, Carina. He is like me.”

The woman’s eyes grew a little wide and she breathed, “Will he help?”

“He will certainly try.”

Edgar was uncertain exactly _what_ he was being roped into but...he owed Elisabeth. Whatever it was, he would see it done.

Elisabeth then stated firmly to the young woman, “He will _not_ gift you immortality. He will help you _adapt_ , as I do. Do you understand? You are not to beg him for that which he cannot give, Carina.”

“I...yes, ma’am.”

Blinking, Edgar looked at Elisabeth in confusion and she merely smiled thinly at him, stating, “She is perhaps a lead that I have found. I have no proof that the one who did this to her is connected to our Jonathan’s kidnapping, only suspicions.”

“Suspicions?” he repeated, looking at the fidgeting young woman again. Flicking his eyes back to Elisabeth, he asked, “What exactly has happened to this young lady, Eli...Lady Ashbury?”

“A Ekon cruelly broke her mind,” came the flat reply. “He promised her immortality and then forced her to eat rats, telling her the secrets to it lay within them. I saw him speaking to her one night last week and investigated the matter, learning what he had forced her to do.”

“ _He?_ Do you know this man?”

Elisabeth’s expression was nothing but bitterness as she replied, “He is my progeny. A man I turned many years ago named Jacob.” Her green eyes then seemed to bore into him as she added flatly, “Jacob _Blackwood._ ”

The name tickled a memory in Edgar’s mind. He had heard the name _Blackwood_ in the past somewhere, though he could not clearly recall where he had heard that particular name off the top of his head. It was surely through the resources of the Brotherhood that he had heard it...but there had been so many of those over the years and now he was uncertain of what his status was with his Brothers and Sisters. He had considered reaching out to them for help but the potential entanglement with the Ascalon Club had kept him from doing so.

Frowning as he still mulled over the name, he asked, “And you suspect that this man is involved in Jonathan’s disappearance? Because of what he did with this young woman?”

“More than merely her, she is simply a part. She is nothing more than a way to amuse himself when he is not otherwise occupied.” Elisabeth then frowned before she went on to say, “I know his methods because I taught him many of them. We were together for more than a century before I left his side and he was _possessive_ despite acknowledging that I was my own creature."

"Is that why you chose to leave him?" he asked and knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that he had overstepped his bounds. Before she could answer, Edgar held up a hand and stated, "Forgive me, El...Lady Ashbury, that was not a question I should have asked."

Elisabeth tilted her head slightly before she stated, "Yet the answer is part of the problem we are currently embroiled in, Doctor. No, that was not why I chose to leave his side and have done my best to avoid him for all of these years since. Suffice it to say that I had...an awakening...of sorts and came to realize that Jacob could no longer be a part of my life. However, I fear that his obsession has perhaps been hounding at my heels for years without my knowledge and who knows how many other victims it has claimed beyond this poor soul here."

Edgar frowned as she gently stroked the young woman's hair again and then his eyes widened as he thought again over what she had just spoken of. Of her progeny and his possessive nature. His _obsession_ with her _._ "Lady Ashbury," he spoke, with a low intensity of fear and worry in his voice, "do you now suspect that this Jacob Blackwood has _stolen_ Jonathan away out of some sort of...misplaced jealousy?"

Her mournful expression was enough of an answer for him but she still nodded and replied, "Yes. I fear that I may have been the one to put him into whatever has befallen our friend."

"You could not have known that he would do such a thing. Especially if you did not suspect he was following you."

"I should have."

Shaking his head, he held up a hand as he said, "None of us can see all of the possibilities of our actions. My own...mistakes...of recent times are more than enough of an example of this. You could not know that this man would not only follow you to London but would take someone that could be seen as a potential rival for your affections."

Now Elisabeth was looking at him as if he was a bug by the expression in her eyes but there was thankfully an amused tilt to her mouth. "Rival for my affections?" she mused aloud. "Doctor Swansea, surely you are not implying that I was courting our good friend, now are you?"

Sputtering, he replied, "I...well...I assumed... _by the Stole_ , my lady, I apologize..."

"Do not apologize, Edgar," she interrupted him gently, her amused smile turning abruptly sad. As Elisabeth turned to look down at the young woman next to her, Edgar saw all the evidence he needed for there having been _something_ between his missing colleague and his friend. "You are not wrong but the truth of that is no longer a balm to my dead heart. If I have been the cause of his pain, even inadvertent and against my own will and not by my own hand, I will feel the blame of it."

Then her head whipped around towards him and suddenly he felt _small_ again as he had in her mansion only two weeks before. _Hunted._ Even the young woman Carina tensed next to Elisabeth, shrinking into herself in a seeming attempt to remain small. Innocuous. Like a frightened rabbit before a wolf.

"But if my Jacob _is_ the cause for our friend's disappearance," Elisabeth stated in a tone that rang like steel through the office, "he is _mine_ alone. I was the one who brought him into this life and I shall finally be the one to rid him of it if he has done harm to something which I care about out of petty _jealousy_ over a prize that was never his to keep."

Even though he was certain he did not have to speak the words, Edgar uncertainly stated, "O-of course, my lady. I would not think to argue with you about such a thing."

Just like that the normal Lady Ashbury was back and both he and the young woman visibly relaxed as the tension drained from the room. With a smile, Elisabeth said, "Excellent. Now, Doctor, we must begin a new task."

"Of course," he replied readily. "I mean, if you are to suggest that we truly determine whether or not your progeny is indeed involved in Jonathan's disappearance. Though I am uncertain as to how you mean to track him unless we are to do such ourselves." As soon as he looked at her, Edgar's shoulder slumped. "That is _exactly_ what you mean to suggest."

"We have no one else to aid us but ourselves," she stated firmly. Elisabeth then looked at the young woman next to her and asked, "Carina, my dear, will you help us? I know I have sheltered you in my home for some time but it would be easiest to follow him from you if he happened to visit again."

He watched in mild concern as the woman seemed to seize up in sheer terror, her eyes wide in her pale face and her hands taking up a shake. "But, he..." she began in a quavering voice, "he will make me eat _them_ again. I know he will. I finally stopped _wanting_ so much. What if he makes me start again?"

Elisabeth turned to fully face her and placed both hands on her shoulders as she said gently but firmly, "If it will comfort you and you allow it, I can attempt to place you under my own power. To keep you from falling under his again. But I will _only_ do it with your full permission, Carina, and it will _only_ be in order to resist him. Nothing else. But if he _tries_ to compel you, I will need you to at least pretend. Do you think that you can do that to attempt to perhaps aid our friend if Jacob truly did something terrible to him?"

Edgar started to open his mouth to protest then when the young woman replied softly, "For Doctor Reid. He was...he was kind to me. Tried to help me. Like you."

"Of course he did, my dear," Elisabeth soothed, her expression sad as she stroked Carina's hair. "He is a good man. Thank you, my darling, and do not worry. I will keep you safe, as I promised."

"Elisabeth," Edgar hissed in concern, rising from his chair as he looked from her to the young woman, distasteful of putting her into danger for such a feat and forgetting himself for a moment, "is this _truly_ the best course of action to find him? To put this young woman into potential danger?"

She turned to look at him with a face like stone and replied sharply, "Letting Jacob run wild within this city is far more of a danger than anything. I will not allow it any longer, Doctor Swansea." Wrapping her arm around the young woman's shoulders, she turned them both towards the door as she called back, "Within two nights, we shall return Carina to the place I found her and see what prize our bait brings us. I expect to see you at my home as soon as the sun falls on that evening, Doctor."

Before they were out the door, Elisabeth turned to look back at him and he was pinned in place by her fierce stare.

"You promised me your help and _I will have it_."

Those were her parting words as she closed the door firmly behind them, leaving him alone again in his office and feeling undeniably shaken. Not only because it certainly sounded like they were dealing with a madman with this Jacob Blackwood, but because the prospect of putting the obviously shaken young woman in further danger from him. And yet...he would be there, at Elisabeth's side. He had promised.

Shaking his head, Edgar sank back down into his seat and tried to return to his work but something still...bothered him. That named. _Blackwood._ It tickled a particular memory. A mention from...somewhere. But where?

After an hour of trying to work on the rota for the next week, his head abruptly snapped up as the pen fell out of his suddenly limp fingers.

_Blackwood._

_Lady Blackwood._

_Elisabeth Blackwood._

She had been a _monster_ during the late 1600s and throughout most of the 1700s and an unrepentant one. One of the few Ekon in history that had been considered for a Ban from what he could recall of the scattered things he had read of her. Alongside her progeny...whose name had been _Jacob_.

Was it...

Was it truly possible that his friend, his benefactor, the woman he had wronged and sworn to aid, was in fact the murderous Lady Blackwood?

Edgar's hands shook and he hurriedly clasped them together as he stared at the shut door to his office, his mind whirling furiously. Either way, she had changed now. She did not kill except in mercy. She was _not_ that woman anymore, he was certain of that.

And, really...were his hands any less stained with blood? Could _he_ truly judge her?

But the true crux of it was he owed her.

Whether she was Lady Blackwood or Lady Ashbury, that was what he would abide by in order to find their friend.

_He owed her this._


	19. Chasing Shadows, Finding Light

"Return home, Carina," Elisabeth commanded firmly - but without any real power behind it - as she reached out to gently grasp the shaken young woman's shoulder. When Carina shuddered, she looked down at where the woman's hands were tightly gripped around the broken body of a rat that she had caught. Thankfully, however, there were no teeth marks in the body.

Her own compulsion laid over the young woman had held.

"Carina, my darling," she soothed, "release the rat. Look at me."

Slowly the broken rodent corpse fell to the street and Carina shook like a leaf even as she tried to wipe what little blood it had leaked onto her hands off on her skirts. "M-my lady," she stammered, "I..."

Elisabeth shushed her gently and said, "You did well, Carina, so very well. Now I need you to return home. You have the key that I gave you still, yes?" As the young woman nodded, she continued, "Return there. Make yourself a nice cup of tea and breathe. You survived, darling."

"My lady!" Edgar called out from nearby, wringing his hands somewhat nervously. "We are going to lose him."

Nodding, Elisabeth grasped Carina's shoulders and stated firmly, "You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Carina. Now go, your part in this is done. What is left is our work."

"O-of course," Carina stammered. "Thank you, E-Elisabeth." As she shuffled off into the night, Elisabeth worriedly looked after her for a long moment before she turned and shadow stepped to Edgar's side.

"Do you have him?" she asked, her tone shifting to something far darker than the much gentled one she used with Carina. At his silence, she demanded, " _Edgar?_ "

Nodding, he replied, "He is two streets over now, heading towards Temple Garden. If we fail to pursue him soon, then I fear we shall lose any attempt at this and have to traumatize that poor young woman again." Edgar then turned his head to look at her, asking, "Shall I follow?"

Elisabeth pursed her lips together into a thin line at the reminder of the trauma caused to Carina tonight and simply stated, "Go. I will follow." When he hesitated, she pinned him with a cold stare. " _Go_."

That command had him instantly vanishing from next to her and she followed, darting after him from shadow to shadow as they pursued her wayward progeny through the streets of the city. For her own part, Elisabeth kept her mind as shuttered as possible, not wishing to give away an inch that they were in pursuit. If her Jacob truly _was_ responsible for Jonathan's disappearance, she did not want to give away that they were on to him. There was no limit to what he might do in response to that if he was the one responsible.

After several jumps, Edgar came to a stop at the edge of a gazebo in the Garden, holding out his arm to indicate for her to stop as well. She halted obediently, tilting her head slightly as she looked around for him now that they were stopped, seeking out the slow beat of other Ekon hearts around them. Elisabeth found him nearby to their left, slowly disappearing downward into some sort of construction site.

As if in sync, the two of them moved forward together in silence only when Jacob was far beneath the ground underneath their feet. Edgar's nose wrinkled in obvious distaste as they entered the sewers but he said nothing as they continued to track their quarry through the various tunnels and turns seemingly endlessly downward. Until newer stone and metal became older and somewhat crumbling, more like that that was more familiar to her own recollections and only ancient to her companions eyes.

Why in these ancient stretches of tunnel?

Was there really a place here that could contain an Ekon of Jonathan's lineage?

"What do you think of your prize, my lord?" abruptly came Jacob's somewhat mocking voice from ahead of them and Elisabeth grabbed Edgar's shoulder to flatten both of them against the wall for a moment. He let out a huff of breath before he grasped her arm in turn, gently tugging as he pulled her aside into a small off-hand tunnel that was drenched in darkness. So long as neither he nor whoever he was speaking to used their own sight, they would be hidden there.

And if they thought themselves alone, the two of them should not feel a need to use it.

"I think this hound you were supposed to deliver to me still needs breaking," came the cold reply to Jacob's question in a voice they both knew distinctly. There was no mistaking the proper, holier-than-thou tone of Lord Redgrave. "I _expected_ an obedient replacement to Fergal, Blackwood. That is what you promised me, after all. This... _beast_...you've attempted to craft seems like he still needs a firm hand on his leash."

Jacob's laugh was cold as it echoed through the tunnels around them and Elisabeth scowled. Oh, once she had loved that laugh... _once._ Now it only made her wish that she had never found his broken body in the street.

"If I were to take such a firm hand with him, my lord, he would be a hound at _my_ beck and call, not yours," he assured. "Don't worry, he will bend the knee to you, I assure you. Let me deliver him to you tomorrow evening and you will see for yourself how obedient he can truly be."

There was silence for a long moment and then Redgrave stated grimly, "If I do not see such results tomorrow night, do not expect to leave this city alive, _Lord_ Blackwood. Your inclusion within the Ascalon Club relied upon your delivering of my hound and your failure to do so will have only one conclusion. Bring your pet to the Club and we shall truly see what you have done."

With that one set of footsteps retreated away from them in the opposite direction that they themselves had come from. Once they had faded enough into the distance, Jacob growled and there was the harsh rattle of what sounded like iron bars. "You _will_ deliver tomorrow night, hound. If you don't, I'll kill you myself before they manage to try and kill me."

Elisabeth felt Edgar freeze next to her as they saw Jacob turn to walk back in their own direction but he continued on past them. They stayed where they were until he fully disappeared into the distance, until the last remnant of his red figure amongst the grays and blacks of their vision became only more gray and black, and turned to look at where he and Redgrave had stood.

There was a single silhouette there in red...slumped almost bonelessly on the floor in a pose that looked utterly hopeless. Truly that of someone who had given up hope.

But was it her Jonathan?

Moving forward, Elisabeth made her way out of their hidden alcove and into the larger tunnel beyond. She could see that there were old bloodstains on the floor of the tunnel, most of which led past the dark hollow of an ancient archway that had been closed up with an iron barred gate. Moving forward, she gently lifted the lock that secured the chain that held it shut before she placed her hands on one of the set of bars. As she sensed Edgar moving up behind her, she looked at the red silhouette in the darkness before them and called out, "Hello?"

With her vision shifted, she could see the figure startle, it's head lifting in a jerky fashion. Then there was a breathy gasp from the darkness followed immediately by frantic shuffling that was punctuated by the rattling of chains. With a sudden shadow step, the figure from the darkness struck the gate...and no longer became a stranger.

Jonathan's face seemed more gaunt thanks to the dirt and grime and old blood that was seemingly smeared across his entire person. His beard and hair were matted with it as well but the beard was all the worse for wear, nearly solid looking with old dried blood. But more concerning was the fact that the hands that gripped the bars just above the ones she did were claws.

And more _terrifying_ for Elisabeth was that the terrified and hopeful eyes that stared at her out of that familiar yet so unfamiliar face were marked by a blood red iris over a pure black sclera. Eyes that she once had been hauntingly familiar with herself. As Edgar breathed, " _By the Stole_ ," behind her, this bloodstained wraith who had been their Jonathan Reid opened his mouth.

"You," he breathed, voice sounding cracked and hoarse. As if he hadn't used it in some time. "Know you. Know both. Who...?"

Blinking, Elisabeth stared at him for a moment before she replied gently, "Of course you do, Jonathan. We are your friends."

"Fr-friend." Those red eyes shifted to Edgar and then widened, one of those fearsome claws lifting to point towards him. " _You_. Mine? _Mine._ My blood? Feel. Sense."

"I-I....yes," Edgar stammered, stepping forward as he gave her a concerned look. "I am your progeny, Jonathan, as well as your friend. You saved me, do you remember that?"

Jonathan just stared back at him before he shook his head. Then he turned slowly to look at her in a considering fashion that wasn't unlike being watched by a wild animal that was considering its prey. He then inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, and suddenly those red eyes went wide before they crinkled at the edges just as quickly, the corners filling with bloody tears.

" _You_ ," he breathed, sounding so terribly heartbroken. "Remember you. Feel. Felt..." Abruptly he trailed off and then one of those clawed hands reached out cautiously, ever so cautiously, to gently press against the space above her barely beating heart in an echo of the pose she had drawn him into what seemed so long ago now. Jonathan's expression was broken beneath the grime and blood as he whispered, "Lost you. Lost...so much."

"Oh, Jonathan," Elisabeth breathed, lifting one of her hands to gently cover his. "You haven't lost anything. We are going to get you out of here. Do you understand?"

Behind her, Edgar said softly, "We're here to free you, Jonathan."

Those red eyes darted between them and then a frown furrowed between his eyebrows. "Free?" he repeated. Then he looked at her again, asking softly, sounding more than a little lost, "I... _real?_ Real?" At that, Elisabeth gripped his hand between both of hers, ignoring the feel of caked blood on his skin underneath her own.

"Real," she insisted. "We are _real_."

More tears spilled down those dirty cheeks and he breathed only one word.

" _Please._ "

As Elisabeth stared back into the broken face of the man that she had begun to care for, she softly stated, "Edgar. Find something to break this lock. Do it now." Somehow the soft words were an order and he moved to fulfill them, disappearing into the tunnels around them to find something. While was gone, she kept one hand gripped around Jonathan's while resting the other on the bar between them.

"I am going to help you," she promised fiercely in a low voice. "Help you remember who you were. Who you are. And help you get _revenge_ if that is what you want."

At the word 'revenge', his eyes lifted to meet her and in that red gaze was no longer a lost man. No, there was _fury_ there beyond words and Jonathan bared his teeth at her and Elisabeth drew in a sharp breath as as she realized he had a _second_ set of fangs beside the other now. What had Jacob _done to him?_

" _Kill them_ ," Jonathan growled. "Want _kill_." He then leaned against the bars, oddly sniffing at the hand she had resting on the bar, before he asked, "Help?"

"Yes."

What other answer did she have?

What other answer _was there?_

He inhaled sharply then, eyes fluttering shut as he let out a breath, and then they snapped open again. Jonathan then pressed a kiss against her knuckles and growled, " _Yours. Only yours. Never their hound._ " As Elisabeth's eyes widened at the declaration and she started to speak, he breathed, "Must. _Must._ Must be bound."

What had they done to him?

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, fearing she knew the answer.

"Will follow," he replied. "Hunt. Kill. If want. They...wanted to break. Bind. Make theirs. Almost did. But I _choose_. Can still _choose_ master. My choice. _Mine_."

Shaking her head, Elisabeth said, "I want you to do none of those things for me, Jonathan. I don't wish to be your master." As his eyes crinkled at the edges, she could suddenly see a shadow of the man he had been there in that grime encrusted face.

"Know," Jonathan whispered. "You...safe. _Safe._ " He then jerked his head around slightly, speaking louder as he went on, "But...need master. Need...guide. Not...not myself. Can not. Must be _your_ hound."

"Jonathan..."

"Please."

Elisabeth frowned and then lifted her hand to caress his cheek, wanting to cry when he leaned into the touch like a obedient dog leaned into the touch of its master. Jacob had somehow _broken_ him. What other choice did she have? If she did not accept him...would he be forced by whatever twisted sort of training her progeny had seemingly beaten into him to choose someone else?

"I accept," she breathed before she could regret the choice. "You are mine."

His closed eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply. Then Jonathan nodded and relaxed again, leaning into her hand once more.

"Is good," he murmured. "Is _right_."

No, Elisabeth thought. No, this was nowhere near _right_.

She was still standing there with his face cupped in her hand when Edgar returned, eyes darting between them in confusion before he held up a heavy looking hammer. "Here, my lady," he stated, gesturing briefly with it. "If we strike it hard enough, we can hopefully break the lock. Shall...shall I do the honors?"

For a moment she considered letting him but then she looked at Jonathan again and thought of what had been spoken. Of _her_ being safety.

"No," Elisabeth replied, removing her hands and turning towards the other doctor. As she took the hammer in her hands, she stated, "I will do it," before she turned and swung at the damned lock. It held against the first blow and the second but the third finally cracked the top part of it and a fourth swing had it clattered to the stone floor. However, as soon as she jerked the door open and stepped into the offal scented room where Jonathan had been held, she saw another dilemma.

He was in _chains._

Fury swept through her and that drove her as she laid down blows into each of the chains until she shattered the links apart. Once he was free, Jonathan swept her up in a move that had Edgar crying out in surprise but Elisabeth felt no fear, not even when those monstrous claws caressed the back of her head as Jonathan buried his face against her throat. She wrapped her arms back around him as he shuddered in her arms and soothed, "I have you. _I have you._ We're going to leave here together."

"Together," he breathed. Then he froze. " _Together._ "

Abruptly Jonathan pulled away from her, a look of panic on his face, and then he _bolted_. Elisabeth stood frozen for a moment and Edgar reacted faster, following after him with a panicked, " _Jonathan, wait!_ " that eventually spurred her into action. The two of them raced down the tunnels until they found Jonathan on his knees before a solid iron door, clawing at it even though he had no hope to get through it and keening like a wounded animal as he repeated under his breath _Mine, mine, mine_.

Elisabeth looked at Edgar, who shrugged, and then she brought the hammer down on the lock that chained this door shut. As soon as it was open, Jonathan scrambled inside, and let out an exultant cry at whatever he found within. There was an echoing sound of delight from another masculine voice within the darkness of this other cell and abruptly all they could hear was panted breathing from within.

"Came for you," Jonathan breathed from somewhere within the darkness. "Free. We free."

"Free?" repeated the other man within the darkness and she stilled. That _voice_...

"By the Stole," Edgar breathed. "It can't be."

" _Free_ ," repeated Jonathan as there were noises of bodies and feet shuffling in the dark. After a few moments he staggered into the light and there, leaning into him, face pressed against his throat and arms tight around him, was an equally grimy and blood encrusted Geoffrey McCullum.

Who _also_ looked at Elisabeth with somewhat delirious blood red iris' in a sea of black sclera.

"By the Stole, they turned the Leader of Priwen," Edgar gasped.

Jonathan shook his head slightly and replied firmly, " _Mine_ ," with a possessive tone as he pulled the other man closer. McCullum let out an unamused sounding huff in response but didn't protest the motion. In fact, he seemed quite content to be pulled into the side of his former enemy as he muttered, " _Yours._ "

Elisabeth looked in horror at Edgar, who was still staring in awe at the now _former_ leader of the Guard. She then stepped towards the two of them, abruptly catching the attention of both of them. As both of those pairs of blood red eyes focused on her, she felt observed like she had never been before. Not even under Jacob's possessive gaze.

"Red?" McCullum queried somewhat blearily. He then turned to look at Jonathan. "Your red?"

"Mine," Jonathan repeated with a nod. He then let out a breath and growled with heavy meaning, " _Master_." Elisabeth stiffened at the title but not like how McCullum's body abruptly seized up at the word choice.

" _No Master!_ " he snarled, claws abruptly out and flailing to dig into Jonathan's sides.

Shaking his head as he clumsily dodged the swipes, Jonathan grasped the former hunter's face between his own monstrous hands and pressed their foreheads together. Abruptly McCullum went limp, falling to his knees and dragging Jonathan down with him, even as he curled his own claws around Jonathan's wrists, brow furrowed as his eyes fluttered shut. They sat like that for a long moment that had Elisabeth looking at Edgar in answer to questions she didn't dare speak aloud and he just shrugged while giving her a look of equal confusion.

This situation was currently very far out of both of their usual depths of knowledge.

Eventually Jonathan pulled away and pecked a kiss on McCullum's forehead. "See?" he asked curiously.

"See," McCullum agreed. He then turned to look up at her and nodded intently. "Yours."

The word was stated with the same intensity as Jonathan had said it and Elisabeth found herself shakily extending a hand towards the man. As Edgar hissed her name, McCullum reached up to grasp her hand as his claws faded away and brought it up to his nose, inhaling her scent as Jonathan had. He then nodded and released her hand, looking up at her as he stated, " _Your hound_."

As if by rote, she replied, "Mine."

Edgar's hand gripped her upper arm then and he leaned in to hiss, " _Elisabeth_ ," obviously forgetting their deal over names in his distress. For this moment, she would not count that against him. "This is madness. _They_ are mad. You can't take th..."

"I fear I already have," she replied softly, looking down at the pair of men. Two opposites now intertwined if she guessed correctly by how they held tightly to each other. And how Jonathan had _clawed_ at the door to this cell, keening like a wounded animal.

Or an animal who had lost something precious to it.

"Elis...my lady..."

Whipping her head around towards him, she hissed, "You heard Jonathan. He had to. Jacob _made_ him have to somehow but he didn't break him. Given what we heard, he was attempting to turn Jonathan into a more obedient Fergal for Redgrave." Sneering, she spat, "Turning a man into nothing more than a _hunting hound_. It is appalling."

"It is _inhumane_ ," Edgar interjected. "But this...Elisabeth, they called you _master_."

"I would rather it be me than Redgrave. Would you rather it be him? Someone of Jonathan's bloodline, of _your own_ bloodline, bound to that...bastard is too _kind_ of a word and monster is not _enough_."

"No! No, of course not. But...what are you going to do?"

Looking down at the pair again, she replied, "I will take them away. All of us, if my daughter will agree to join me. Somewhere out of the city, away from those who would do them all harm."

There was silence for a moment as Edgar stood next to her, his own gaze looking down at the two men still seated on the floor, once enemies now bound together by blood and...so much more by all appearances. Then Edgar asked softly, "And what happens if they never recover from what has been done to them?"

She grimaced slightly and then lifted her chin slightly as Jonathan looked up at her, followed slowly by McCullum. There was so much _hope_ in those red eyes that looked up at her...how could she _not_ do whatever she could to try and help them? Even if she did not succeed entirely in getting them back to who and what they had been before.

"Then we will approach that bridge when we get there," Elisabeth replied quietly. Then she turned to look at him and stated, "Will you help me, Edgar?"

Edgar slowly blinked and then his eyes darted downward at the pair of men before returning to her.

"Yes," he answered simply. "I owe Jonathan at least that."

Nodding, she shifted her attention back towards the two and slowly crouched down next to them, keeping her hands resting on her own knees even though she briefly considered reaching out to touch their shoulders. With a look between the two of them, Elisabeth swore, "I will do everything within my power to help you both get through this. But I want to assure you that I will _never_ ask you to do a thing against your wills. I _will_ keep you safe. Both of you."

"Safe," Jonathan echoed, a tired smile flashing behind his matted beard. He looked at the man he was still holding close and stated, "Together."

"Together," McCullum echoed. "Safe."

Elisabeth slowly lifted both hands, one towards each of them, and turned them over to extend them towards them with her palms upward. " _Safe_ ," she said firmly. "With me." Two hands - one clawed and one not, both coated with dried blood and grime - slipped into hers and held tight, two chins nodding sharply in close agreement.

" _With you_ ," they echoed together, the tones of their voices flowing together in a way that was eerie...and perhaps spoke more than anything to how close they had become.

She feared what she had done...but there was something greater in her heart than the fear.

_Hatred._

Elisabeth would keep these men safe until the time was right.

And then they would see those who had harmed them all _pay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now. Our final chapter of this part of the story comes next week.


	20. Seven Months Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter. For now, anyway. There is still retribution to be had, after all.

Sighing as she stepped out onto the precarious stones of the old castle as the sun set, Charlotte pulled the shawl from around her own shoulders as she moved up behind Carina where the other young woman sat on a broken wall with only a thin dress against the evening chill. "Flirting with danger again, Rina?" she asked teasingly as she approached, having made sure that her footsteps were loud enough for Carina to hear.

Her former acquaintance was still so _broken_ by what had happened to her at the hands of her mother's progeny. She thankfully had stopped hunting rats over the seven months since they had left London for the castle but she was still painfully shy and broken. No longer the powerful seeming, proud woman who had once been a part of Charlotte's circle to fight for women's rights.

Part of Charlotte wanted to be angry at her mother for what her progeny had done since she was responsible for him...but no one was more furious about what he had done to them than her mother.

Carina turned her head away from the sunset and smiled up at her, nodding as Charlotte leaned down to wrap the shawl around her narrow shoulders. "No danger," she murmured, "not here." Then the other woman frowned, her eyes growing dark, as she looked back towards the bulk of the castle. "They were howling so loud last night," she whispered, as if they were to be overheard.

Nodding, Charlotte sat down on the broken wall next to her friend, gripping Carina's pale hands in her own. She was so _painfully_ thin still, even though they had more than enough supplies here to support them.

"It was not an easy night, no," she agreed, though she knew more about it than Carina did. Charlotte had _seen_ her mother after the howling had finally stopped, only leaving Carina alone that night after she had finally fallen managed to asleep. Padding out into the large hall that occupied part of the keep, she had met her mother coming up from the secret passage that led down into the tunnels beneath the castle where Elisabeth had once kept her maker hidden away...and now kept the poor Doctor Reid and the hunter.

Her mother had been disheveled and haunted looking, her hands shaking, and Charlotte had helped her into one of the chairs at the table before sinking down onto her knees in front of her. Holding tightly onto Elisabeth's hands, she had said, "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Mother. I fear the stress of the pair of them is killing you."

Elisabeth had just smiled and freed a hand from hers to cup her face gently before she said, "I have survived far worse than this, my dearest. Tonight was merely...it was an anniversary for Jonathan. A year since the evening he rose and killed his own sister."

Charlotte had frowned and asked softly, "He relived it?"

"He only just _remembered it_ ," her mother had replied sadly. "Though you would not have known it from the simple meeting of him, he felt and still does feel so deeply. It obviously wounded him when it happened and this was made worse by the fact that his trauma had caused him to forget it so completely except for her face. And, through him, Geoffrey experienced it as well as if it was his own."

"Do you truly think that you can save them, Mother?"

"Save? No, dearest. I don't believe I can save them. Yet, if I can help them regain an inch of who they were, I shall call that a victory over the harm that was done to them."

Shaking herself out of the memory, Charlotte squeezed Carina's hands and smiled at her friend warmly. "I think tonight will be better," she stated cheerfully. "Perhaps we can do something good for them when they go out tonight to hunt. I imagine that their bedding down there took some damage during the chaos last night and they might appreciate it being repaired when they return later."

Nodding, Carina returned her smile with one that was nervous but bright.

"I would like to help Doctor Reid feel better in whatever way I can," she said softly.

"Then we shall do so tonight."

Charlotte then turned as the door near them opened, arching her eyebrows as the doctor himself crept out onto the walkways. He blinked at them, standing in a somewhat feral crouch, and then he turned towards where the setting sun still lit up the sky over them in the fading brilliant oranges and reds that were becoming russet and ruddy shadows of themselves before true darkness fell. There was a childish wonder on his face as he straightened up to his full height, something that did not happen often lately, and tipped his face upwards towards the sky as if to catch what little of the warmth of the sun that he could, eyes fluttering shut as he stood there.

Looking back at her friend, Charlotte found Carina watching him with a sad expression before she darted her eyes towards her. "I wish we could all be better," Carina mournfully murmured.

Squeezing her hands, Charlotte replied, "I wish that too, Rina."

As abruptly as he had appeared and tilted his face towards the sun, Jonathan became what he had been since her mother had freed him. His shoulders hunched slightly, as if he was trying to constantly retreat into himself, and he moved slowly towards them, fingers constantly twitching nervously. But, Charlotte lamented to herself, at least he _had_ fingers now. Those first few months he had only _claws_ and they had feared that he would never be able to rid himself of them.

The night he had, he had sat down right where he stood as the blood and shadow that had been formed into the claws for so long had faded, revealing long pale fingers smudged by blood and dirt. And he had cried silent tears until Geoffrey had collapsed next to him, only making a sound when he buried his face into the other man's chest.

"Good evening," he greeted politely, nodding to the both of them. If it weren't for the still stilted pattern to his speech, Charlotte would swear he almost sounded like his old self. Like the man she had met and teased in the street outside of her mother's home. "I hope...apologize. Charlotte. Carina. For..." Jonathan grimaced as he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one of his hands. "For...for noise last night. Certain I kept awake."

Carina's smile was bright as she said, "Oh, it was fine, Doctor Reid. We didn't hear much of anything at all. Did we, Charlotte?"

As her friend's hand squeezed hers, Charlotte lied, "We did not."

Jonathan smiled but she could see the realization in his red eyes. He _knew_ their own sleep had been disturbed...but he accepted their polite attempts to cover their own discomfort to protect his own privacy with a nod. "Thank you," he murmured softly. Then he tilted his head, as if listening to something, and his smile widened. "They are coming."

A few moments after his announcement, her mother and the hunter exited through the door. The taller man followed at her heels like an obedient hound but they were speaking quietly to each other with the air of equals...though he looked annoyed about something. Jonathan seemed to pick up on whatever it was as they approached and gave an indulgent smile that made him seem almost _himself_ again.

"Edgar is coming," he said, picking it up from somewhere without either of the others mentioning it. "Soon?"

" _Too soon_ ," Geoffrey growled even as Elisabeth stated, "Sometime later this week. He believes that he has made a small breakthrough in researching my condition. With him here, he can also help me to assess how much progress you both have made."

Charlotte watched as the hunter moved away from her mother to the doctor's side, showing a hint of his fangs in a smile before he leaned into the other man. "Left me alone," she heard him mutter as he wrapped an arm around Jonathan. As the doctor raised a hand to run his fingers through the other man's hair, Geoffrey let out a pleased growl.

"Needed to move," Jonathan replied as his fingers trailed through dark strands. "You needed sleep. And never alone, remember?"

"Principle."

" _Principle!_ "

"Matters."

Jonathan huffed out a breath and turned to press a kiss into the hunter's temple with a chuckle and Charlotte glanced towards Carina, who was looking away from them awkwardly. It _was_ awkward as the behavior was far more that of a _lover_ than a simple maker to a progeny...but, as her mother had explained, they were _different_. Their entire relationship and bond had been built on blood in the darkness of their combined cell and then across separate ones. Only a month or so ago, they had still been thrown into howling fits when separated from each other for more than a few minutes.

And, so far as she herself was aware, there was nothing sexual between the two men.

Not that she was keeping _track_.

"Be nice," Jonathan growled at Geoffrey. "Brothers." When he earned nothing more than a scoff in return, he looked at her mother eagerly. "Hunt?" At the word, the hunter perked up and suddenly they were both looking at Elisabeth not like men but like eager hounds, waiting for the command to be let off the leash. It was a demeanor that was still upsetting because they were _men_ , not _animals_.

Sighing, Elisabeth replied, "Yes, of course, we shall hunt tonight." She then looked at the pair of them sitting on the wall and asked, "Will you both be fine alone tonight? It will likely be some time until we return, even if we go now."

A hunt would take them _hours_. While her mother's appetites were...controlled...the hunger and thirst of the two men next to them were decidedly _not_. At first, they had had to be _verbally commanded_ to not attack them. To be reminded that they weren't _food_. Carina had locked the doors to their room every night after that and Charlotte had not fought her on it because she had also seen the raw hunger in both of those sets of red eyes. Thankfully her mother had managed to turn them towards other sources besides human but it still took a significant amount to sate their bloodlust.

"We will be fine," Charlotte assured with a smile. "We already have a plan for what we will do while you all are gone, don't we, Rina?"

"We do!" Carina echoed cheerfully.

As her mother nodded, Jonathan smiled at them and said, "Be safe." Next to him, Geoffrey grunted and then he shook himself, seeming to come back to himself. After that his gaze finally seemed to focus on them and he nodded slowly towards them in turn.

"Charlotte," he greeted slowly. "Carina. Stay inside and lock doors. Against everything."

Meaning literally against everything. _Including them._

"Of course," Charlotte stated firmly. She then looked at her mother and said, "You should go ahead and go. It's been almost a week since the last hunt." Thankfully in the seven months since they had arrived at the castle, they had been able to slowly space out their eating habits back to some level of normalcy. When she had first been reintroduced to the doctor and the now turned Leader of Priwen, they had both been in a constant state of hunger.

Things _were_ better than they had been. Not perfect by any means but certainly better.

Nodding, Elisabeth extended a hand towards the two men in an open gesture and asked, "Are you ready, gentlemen?". She could have simply commanded them verbally to come with her and they would have done it...but her mother did not want to treat them like animals. As much as they were able, they treated them as men, hoping it would help remind them of who they had been after their torturous months of containment.

" _Ready_ ," both of them answered in unison in that eerie way where their voices overlapped and it was hard to tell whose voice was which. Charlotte felt one of Carina's hands clutch at hers as they spoke and then they were abruptly alone on top of the castle walls in the swiftly becoming twilight darkness.

"Come," she announced abruptly, rising from her seat without releasing her friend's hand. Gently pulling on her arm, Charlotte stated, "Given they're awake, it is almost our supper time as well. Will you come help me finish the preparations on the stew that we worked on earlier and then we can see what we can do about their bedding?"

"Of course," came Carina's reply as she slowly rose up to stand next to her. Then she frowned and asked, "Charlotte?"

"What is it, Rina?"

"Does it...does it feel...different? Like...something is about to change?"

Frowning, Charlotte stepped close to her and lifted her free hand to gently pet Carina's hair as she leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Perhaps it's a good change," she reassured softly.

"Maybe," her friend murmured but she did not sound at all convinced.

Instead of dwelling on it, Charlotte merely smiled and pulled Carina into the castle, leading her towards the small area she had converted into a kitchen for their use only - and her mother's occasional tea. As they worked, she couldn't help but muse silently on the fact that her friend very well might be right.

It _did_ feel like something was about to change. Like the weighted charge that filled the air before the start of a thunderstorm, as if they were merely waiting for the first rumble and peal of thunder to begin.

And Charlotte had a suspicion that like some of the other large changes in their lives lately, Edgar Swansea would bring this new one to their doorstep. She could only hope that whatever it was that might be coming towards them, that their little almost family that had formed since their arrival would remain intact.

If it did not...then there may very well be _two_ Ashbury's on a warpath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED in the next part of our story...


End file.
